


Parallel Horizons

by mokuyoubi



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Flirting, Found Family, Kissing, M/M, Peter is a trash fire, Spideypool Big Bang 2020, buddy fic, no surprise there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: When Peter B Parker enters the collider again to return to his own dimension, he’s dumped out a week into the future, but still in Miles’ universe. Repeated attempts to return home only speed up the damage done to his body by the glitches, and leave him stranded 2 years in the future. Enter Deadpool, who’s seen a lot of versions of Spider-Man, but never one so in need of a friend. He vows to save Peter’s life, whether he likes it or not. Along with Miles and Gwen, they work to repair the damage, and find out what’s keeping Peter from being able to return home. And maybe Peter finds he has more in common with the strange Merc than he could have anticipated.
Relationships: Peter B. Parker/Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 71
Kudos: 556
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2019 Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to visit my artist, [Meeps](https://noselfpreservation.tumblr.com/post/190668630512/this-was-my-first-spideypoolbigbang-i-did-the), on tumblr, and leave feedback for their lovely art!
> 
> I'd like to thank [Jennicide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenyen/profile), who has cheered me on since beginning this fic, from making my first deadline to the finish line, and who has been invaluable in helping me through difficult patches, and even stepping up to beta when mine fell through. Thank you so much!
> 
> Also, [Pineau_Noir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir/pseuds/Pineau_noir) who was so terrific in offering a last minute beta.
> 
> Thank you both so much!

All the Spidey-People--

[Is that really the appropriate term?]

Wade eyed the group consideringly, mouth twisted up at the side. “I don’t know if the robot counts as a Spidey. I guess it has the spider inside it…”

[[The pig, dumbass. Obviously he’s talking about the pig.]]

“You can’t blame me for trying to repress that,” Wade hissed. “Okay, all the Spidey- _Creatures_ , then. Happy?”

[[I would never go so far as to say that.]]

All the Spidey-Folks had gathered around the collider, queueing up for their turn to go through, but were lingering over goodbyes. Wade couldn’t help but imagine if it were a room full of alternate versions of himself, instead. Probably then they couldn’t get away from each other fast enough. If more than one of them survived the initial meeting, that is.

“Sooner is better here, people,” Stark said insistently, patting the collider in a way that reminded Wade of a used car salesman.

[Insert Meme Here.]

[[I think everyone already gets the picture.]]

[I think you might be overestimating the audience of AO3...]

“We could hang around a little longer. Except Gwen maybe,” Peni said. “But with Peter’s cellular structure in the state it’s in…”

“If it weren’t for your healing factor, I’d expect to see a puddle of goo,” Stark said, ever the diplomat.

Was Peter tearing up a little? Wade didn’t know if that was sad, or adorable. “I know we just did this. Or at least, from my perspective we did, but I’m still gonna miss you guys.”

[[I’m all for starting a narrative in medias res, but this is a little ridiculous.]]

[More like, in medias ends.]

“That’s not how Latin works. But I take your point; maybe we should go back a couple of days.”

*A Week Earlier, Give or Take a Day*

Having travelled throughout the Multiverse, Wade had seen a lot of versions of Spider-Man. Obviously, there was the most common variant, the Peter Parker, with minor differences from verse to verse. Sometimes it was a different origin story, or a different set of genitals, in black and white, or in one memorable occasion where he’d actually mutated _into_ a spider, but generally still familiar to Wade.

Then there were the less frequent, but still plentiful, different cast of men and women who’d crossed paths with a particular radioactive spider instead of Peter. The Gwens and Miles and Jessicas and Bens and Charlottes and Miguels and on and on.

There was also the pig one, though Wade wasn’t entirely certain if that was a hallucination or not.

There was even this one universe where Spider-Man was literally a man made up of millions of spiders. They could swarm together to form a body, and apparently they’d _eaten_ Peter and assumed his personality. It was deeply disturbing, and Wade didn’t like to think about it, okay?

So, when he saw this version standing before him--

Spidey was huddled there in a hoodie, over a stained and hole-spangled suit, with his feet shoved into fuzzy yellow ducky slippers. His mask was hanging out of the pocket, like his last fuck given over everyone knowing his identity was nothing but a distant memory.

A little of whatever he was drinking from within his brown paper bag spilled out of the corner of his mouth and over his stubbly jaw, splashing onto the front of his suit and leaving splotches that went a long way toward explaining some of the stains. He scrubbed his mouth with his sleeve and brushed ineffectually at the new dark spots on his spider-emblazoned chest with fingers that poked out of the frayed remains of red gloves.

When Wade saw this Spider-Man, and thought to himself that this was the single most pathetic version he’d ever seen, it was important to understand the full implications of that statement.

People were giving him a wide berth, but beyond that, he wasn’t getting any particular attention. It was Queens, after all. A hobo dressed as Spider-Man wasn’t all that strange these days. Two years was plenty of time for the fallen hero look to have gone from the hottest thing to the discount rack, and eventually to the second-hand stores and dumpsters. The hauntingly familiar face, though, in spite of the lines around the eyes and mouth and the greying at the temples, apparently wasn’t registering with anyone other than Wade.

Wade didn’t know how long he stood there, staring like a slack-jawed idiot, but Peter’s gaze eventually shifted in his direction, and the reaction wasn’t exactly unexpected. An expression of resigned disbelief fell over his face. “Another one?” he asked.

[My thoughts exactly.]

“Like you have any room to talk. You realise this universe already has a Peter Parker?”

Peter shambled over and flicked at the hilt of one of Wade’s katana. “What’s with the swords? Are you from some post-apocalyptic, zombie-ridden universe?”

“Hold on.” Wade held up a hand. “Oh shit, do you think--” he couldn’t contain the little giggle of disbelief that built into full-blown laughter at the realisation that once again he’d been mistaken for Spider-Man, only this time by Spidey himself. “Oh man.” He clutched at his stomach.

As he continued to guffaw helplessly, Peter shifted his weight, crossing his arms and giving Wade a truly pissy look.

“Sorry.” Wade clutched his stomach, aching from the laughter. “It’s just. Man, you don’t know how annoyed this universe’s version of you would have been, if he’d heard you mistake me for him.”

“Wait, so you’re _not_ a Spider-Man?” Peter’s posture straightened, eyes narrowed at Wade’s weaponry.

“Nope! See, unlike you, I belong to this universe. Though, I sometimes do use Bea and Arthur to kill zombies.”

“And you knew... that blond me?”

“I’m still not sure he was born with it,” Wade said, and then leaned in to stage whisper, _Maybelline_. “We worked together a few times.” Peter looked dubious, which was fucking rich. Like, he really had no room to judge, here. “I mean, he didn’t share your apparently blasé approach to maintaining a secret identity, but I’d held out hope I might see the guy under the mask someday. Just hadn’t expected it to be blasted on the evening news.”

Peter’s gaze fell to the ground, lips pressed thin together in something like guilt. He looked like one more strong negative emotion might just knock him permanently off his feet, so Wade felt compelled to distract him. “I’m guessing there’s no Deadpool where you’re from?”

“Deadpool?” Peter echoed dubiously, sufficiently distracted. “It’s not ringing any bells. Did you, uh, pick that yourself? I mean your superhero name.”

Wade scoffed. “Superhero? That’s not a word I generally hear in reference to myself. I’m not like the other girls. But enough about me, you’re the one who’s...” Wade waved in Peter’s direction, a gesture encapsulating everything from the slippers, to the five o’clock shadow with some remaining flecks of whatever his last solid meal had been, to...

[To his general _presence_ in this dimension?]

As a rule, Wade thought the concept of tact was pointless and stupid, but just this once, he decided to bite his tongue.

Peter looked down at himself and then out at the street around them. “It’s a long story,” he muttered. And then, after a moment, a dawning expression of awareness crept over his face. “Hey, is Ranchito still open here?”

“The place over off 42nd?” The only reason to go anywhere near Times Square, as far as Wade was concerned. Unless it was to kill somebody, he supposed. “They closed it in your ‘verse?” He eyed Peter with pity. “More and more, your whole aesthetic is starting to make sense.” It was clear the universe he’d come from had fallen on hard times.

Peter scowled at him. “Let’s see how you look when you’ve been dragged across a half-dozen different dimensions.”

Wade was about to protest that he always universe-hopped in style. Then all of a sudden, Peter and the air around him began to shimmer and shift into multi-coloured geometric shapes, like some cubist artist on an acid trip. He didn’t _remember_ ingesting any drugs that morning, but that didn’t mean it _hadn’t_ happened. Wade reached out and then thought better of it, waiting until the moment passed, and Peter sagged in on himself, like a bean bag leaking microbeads all over the floor.

“You doin’ okay there, Spidey?” he asked hesitantly.

[Holy LSD-triggered synesthesia, Batman!]

[[What. The actual fuck?!]]

“Ranchitos,” Peter gasped out. A hand shot out, closing around Wade’s arm with bruising force as he steadied himself. “Your treat, and I’ll tell you all about it, Deadpool.”

“Wade. Wilson. Just Wade is fine.”

Peter’s brows did a funny half-confused, half-amused furrow, and his lips twitched. “Nice to meet you, Just Wade.”

*

Wade might have been an asshole--

[[Okay, who exactly do you think you’re fooling here?]]

\--but he knew how to treat people in the service industry, and the servers at all his favourite restaurants always fought over who got his table when he turned up, knowing they were in for a big tip. It was nice to be appreciated, even if it was mostly for his money.

At Ranchito, he and Peter were led to a nice table in the back, separated from the main dining room by a beaded curtain, and presented with margaritas and a bowl of warm chips and salsa.

Peter considered the drink with a speculative eye and a quirked corner of his mouth that might someday grow up to be a smile. “Normally more of a beer guy, but when in Rome. You know, where Rome is an alternate dimension.” He shrugged and downed half the thing in one long gulp, before turning to the chips and shoveling them gracelessly in his mouth.

Now, far be it from Wade to judge a man on his eating habits, but… “German has the best words,” he said. “There’s this one, kummerspeck--literal translation is grief bacon.”

At Wade’s words and meaningful look, Peter paused mid-chew to arch a questioning brow. “Are you fat-shaming me?” he said around his mouthful. “Everyone in this dimension is so judgy.”

“It’s not healthy to eat your feelings, Spidey.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Stop calling me that.”

“Ah, see, now you’re starting to sound like _my_ Spidey.”

At that, Peter’s face fell, and he sullenly scooped a small mountain worth of salsa onto a chip. “Yeah, I’m like a goddamn mirror image.” He shoved the chip in his mouth, heedless of the large glob of tomato that landed squarely on the thorax of the spider of his chest.

Wade sucked his lips.

[Maybe a subject change is in order.]

He rolled up the edge of his mask to take a sip of his own margarita, and didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes skated over his exposed skin and away again, expression blank. “So, wanna tell me why you went all Demoiselles of Avignon on me back there.”

Peter let out a bark of surprised laughter and looked up at where Wade’s eyes would be. “I’m pretty sure my clothing stayed intact.”

“Varying definitions of intact,” Wade said, with a pointed glance at Peter’s bare fingers. “Not that I don’t love your whole Trash Panda aesthetic, but were they having a sale on Avenger merch at Hot Topic?”

“I’m sorry, but is your suit currently being held together by duct tape or not?” Peter asked. “What’s your excuse for looking like you just lost a fight with a meat grinder? Not to mention the eau de stadium bathroom you’re giving off.”

[[Point to Spidey.]]

[Wow, this one doesn’t even pretend to humour you.]

[[I like him--he hates on us like we hate on us--if that’s wrong I don’t wanna be right!]]

“It’s alright,” Wade said. “I like a little salty with my sweet.”

“Whatever that means.” Peter flexed his fingers and splayed them wide a few times, turning his hand to look at it front and back, before reaching for his drink again. “It’s just part of the side-effects. You know, just your run of the mill cellular degradation.”

Over platter after platter of meat-and-cheese stuffed tortillas in a variety of styles and flavours, Peter spun the whole yarn of how he’d been brought to this dimension, and the original plan to get him back to his own.

“Clearly, that didn’t play out how we’d imagined. Instead of ending up back home, it just shot me forward a couple of weeks. So not only was I stuck, but the side-effects were happening more frequently. Really taking it out of me.” Peter took a break to wash down his food with his fourth margarita, which at this point was more tequila than anything else, thanks to their long-suffering server.

[[Can he even get drunk?]]

[He’s giving it the old college try, at any rate.]

“So, I messed around a bit, whipped up my own miniature version of the collider in my aun--his aunt’s shed. This time, I ended up here. Two years into this world’s future. But now the side-effects are even worse than before.”

“Okaaay.” There were parts of the story that Wade would like to hear about in further detail at some point. At least now he had outside corroboration that he wasn’t completely insane, and the Spider Pig was real.

[[If you think that is validation of your sanity, have I got news for you...]]

But, at the moment, he had to focus on the salient details. “So what’s the plan, Stan?”

Wade had to wait for an answer as Peter took a moment to suck the tip of each finger into his mouth, licking them free of sauce and grease. At any other point in time, Wade might find it a pleasant distraction, but the fact that Peter’d already done another one of his weird glitches during the time they’d been in the restaurant gave him a sense of urgency.

[[Quit fucking lying. We’re inside your head man. We know every thought you’re thinking.]]

Okay, fine, so it was still distracting. But one Spidey had died in this universe already, and Wade hadn’t even been around to know about it until way too late. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“If I stay here, I’ll eventually fall apart. Essentially, I’m losing more of myself every minute, and those jumps--they’re just accelerating the process. But there’s no way home, so!” Peter gave an exaggerated shrug, his eyebrows arched high and lips pressed in a grim line, then grabbed another taquito. “Might as well live it up while I can. Bucket tour of all the things I’ve missed in my New York.” He waved at the server as she passed and pointed at his drink, then gave her a brilliant smile.

Wade smacked the table hard enough to make the plates clatter, but Peter didn’t startle. He turned his attention back to Wade, looking down his nose through hooded eyes, his chin canted up and the barest trace of a nasty smile curling the corners of his lips. “Yes?”

“That is complete and utter bullshit.” Wade jabbed a finger at him. “You’re _Spider-Man_ , you’re like, the hero of the people. Even when the odds are way against you, you always get back up.”

“No, that’s _your_ Spider-Man,” Peter said with a voice that could have re-iced the dregs of his margarita. “Sorry to disappoint, but I am not him.”

“Yeah, no shit. Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let you kill yourself, for fuck’s sake.”

[What was that? I couldn’t hear it over the sound of _your hypocrisy._ ]

[[But that’s different. Spidey isn’t a pathetic waste of space.]]

At least not most of the versions of him.

Peter chewed noisily on another chip, and this time, Wade was certain the crumbs in his stubble were a purposeful affectation. “It’s not killing myself. Just... proactively waiting for the clock to run out.”

Wade exhaled noisily and stood up. He rifled through his pouch and threw a handful of hundreds down on the table, just as their server returned with Peter’s new drink. “Come on.” Peter ignored him, hoisting his margarita like it was the holy grail. Wade grabbed him by the elbow. Peter put some serious resistance into it, the drink sloshing over his hand to his pouting dismay.

“Now that was uncalled for,” he muttered, but at least he allowed Wade to drag him to his feet, licking the remains of his margarita up from his exposed skin.

“Come on,” Wade repeated. “I’m taking you home.”

*

Despite his flippant attitude, it wasn’t like Peter was thrilled that he was dying. It was just, at a certain point, when life had been consistently piling you with shit, it was easier to settle in and get cozy while trying to ignore the smell as much as possible.

For him it had been a little over a week since he’d been sucked into the portal on his ceiling, but who knew how much time was passing back home. It had been two years in this universe. How long had it been for MJ? Any chance at reconciliation was probably long passed, if there had ever been any chance remaining at all. Hell, she probably thought he was long dead and moved on with her life. It’s what she deserved.

So, what was the worst that could happen, letting this Deadpool guy give it a try?

They took a cab across the river to where the apartment buildings and businesses gave way to mostly warehouses, rundown bars, and motels that rented by the hour. Once upon a time, Peter might have raised a brow over the location, but he was in no place to judge anyone.

Wade seemed to know the driver, or else the guy had the patience of a saint. As they drove, he fiddled with the various settings on the dashboard while flipping through the stations. Apparently none of them were playing the sort of music Wade wanted to hear, and he kept up a running, one-sided discussion of it for much of the ride. At least, it seemed one-sided, with appropriately timed pauses where the other person might have interjected--if anyone else had been speaking. Occasionally, the driver chirped in with a cheerfully oblivious comment.

After a while, Wade finally settled on a 90s pop hits station, and Peter silently cursed himself for wishing the channel surfing would stop if this was where they landed. _All That She Wants_ was playing. Wade sang along for a minute before stopping abruptly and asking, “Are we still allowed to listen to Ace of Base?”

There was another one of his pauses, and then he said, “Because of the Nazis, obviously.” Peter leaned forward towards the divide in the seats. Maybe there was someone on an earpiece inside the mask? “I say we just go Lieutenant Aldo Raine, carve ‘em up, make it easy to pick ‘em out.”

“Is that the one where Brad Pitt has that dreadful accent, Mister Pool?” the driver asked.

“Fuck you, Brad Pitt was a genius in that role!”

They arrived at a storage facility on the outskirts of Yonkers, and the driver left with a jaunty wave as he went. Wade produced the key to one of the units from a zippered pouch on his suit. “Get your tickets ready.”

Peter gave him what he hoped was an appropriately unimpressed look. “Tickets?” he echoed, and then smacked himself in the face as realisation washed over him a second later.

It was too late, though. Wade rolled up the door with a flourish to reveal a cluttered space crammed full of shit and exclaimed, “For the gun show, baby!”

“Yes, yes.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Your muscles are so impressive,” he said, deadpan.

“Oh thanks, I work out,” Wade said earnestly. “Well, mostly my right hand but some jazzercise helps to keep things tight. As flattering as it is to know you’ve been ogling my goodies, I meant the actual sticks that go boom.” With that, he whipped a sheet off one of the tables to reveal a truly impressive array of weaponry.

Wade hefted one assault rifle up against his chest, like he was a proud father showing off his newborn. “This is Ronnie--she used to be my favourite, before that dickbag Hit-Monkey shot me with her.” He patted the gun absently. “Now she’s my second favourite.”

“And this is Debbie.” He grabbed a Smith and Wessen magnum in his free hand. “This little baby could drop an elephant at a hundred yards, if you were the kind of douche canoe who shoots elephants. Mostly, I use it on drug lords.”

It was just beginning to sink in that Peter had essentially allowed a strange man strapped with weaponry to take him to a secondary location. He sidled closer to the open door, just in case, and eyed Wade warily. He’d moved on to a different table, rummaging through what looked to be the pieces of a disassembled lawn mower engine, and Peter had to express his doubts.

“And how, exactly, are you planning on getting me home? Shoot our way there?”

Wade spared him a look. “Ha. Ha. You’re killing me.”

Supposing he actually did somehow possess the knowhow, this didn’t look like the kind of workshop to support the building of a collider or anything like it. Peter craned his neck to peer in the dark corners of the room. “You got some dimension hopping DeLorean back there or something?”

“I gotta say, you and me drawing on the same pool of pop culture references is a refreshing change of pace.” Wade turned back to him with a device the size of a make-up compact, shiny silver with a clip on the back, and presented it with a flourish.

Once it had been clipped to the edge of Peter’s hoodie the small screen lit up with a blinking series of dots. A glowing green _616_ appeared, then flickered, to be replaced with _1610_ , and then back again.

Peter looked at Wade questioningly. It was hard to read the guy’s face when he kept it completely covered in a mask, but it seemed like he was grinning maniacally. He gave off that sort of energy. “Hold on to your butts,” Wade said, wrapped his hand around Peter’s, and pressed the button.

Travelling through dimensions was different this time from his previous trips. The device emitted a throbbing pink light that encased them both. There was none of the searing pain, like being torn apart atom from atom and then put back together; all the jagged, raw pieces shoved in place whether they fit or not. In one instant, they were standing in Wade’s storage space, and in the next, they were in Peter’s apartment.

At least, he assumed it was his apartment. He remembered the radiator that rattled like kids crashing matchbox cars on a linoleum floor, and that window with the view of the trash alley between his building and the next, and, glancing up, saw a grease stain in the shape of a pizza slice on the ceiling.

“How--” Peter trailed off, not certain how to finish.

“Every universe gives off unique vibrations. The device read yours, and returned you exactly where you belonged.” Wade gave an exaggerated bow and sweep of his arm.

“You actually pulled it off,” Peter murmured, mostly to himself.

“I know it’s not very on brand for the hero to ask for reward for saving the damsel in distress, but I _am_ a mercenary, so…how about a kiss for returning the princess to the right castle?”

It seemed the best course of action with Wade was to ignore him, so Peter did just that. He made a slow turn of the room, taking in more of the details with growing dismay. His boxes were gone, and his bed, replaced with a futon and cheery-coloured rug in an attempt to brighten up the place. Instead, it only served to highlight what a depressing dump it was.

In the corner was a frayed arm chair where a cat lay staring at them in blatant disapproval. Framed floral prints lined the walls, and a calendar by the door confirmed what he’d feared. The same amount of time had passed here, as well.

Behind him, there was a clatter and Peter spun to see a man standing in the doorway from the kitchen, his cup spilling tea over the floor, staring at them in horror.

Peter opened his mouth to assure the guy they weren’t robbers, to calm him down. But before he could form the words, his whole body seized up. The by-now familiar sensation ripped through him. It was like all his senses were on overload--simultaneously being unable to see, and seeing everything, acid crawling up his throat and burning in his nostrils, the sound of countless different dimensions roaring in his ears, skin on fire. His throat was raw, like he was screaming, but if he was, he couldn’t hear it. It was like a million razor sharp wires cutting through his body, separating him into individual particles that scattered away into a void.

It felt like it was going on longer than before, but really, there was no way of saying. He had no point of reference for the passage of time, only the unending onslaught. Until, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

“Hey.” That was Wade’s voice, distant like spoken from the other side of a wall. Maybe he was touching Peter on the arm, but it was hard to say. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Slowly, Peter became aware of the fact that he was lying on the ground, curled up in the fetal position. Other input filtered in slowly. It was cold, seeping through the layers of his hoodie and his suit, through skin and muscle down to the bone. His cheeks were tight from the wet paths of tears streaked down them, his nose was running, his throat was raw from screaming.

After several minutes, Peter managed to open his eyes, though it took a while longer for the space around them to resolve itself into Wade’s storage locker. He wiped the snot and tears from his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. In all fairness, it had seen worse recently, anyway. “What happened?”

“You went all House of Wax on me.” The eyes on Wade’s mask were wide, and he kept half-reaching toward Peter’s prone form before drawing his hands back and wringing them helplessly. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I brought you back here.”

Peter nodded without really processing. “It’s gone. All of.” He tried to sit up, but his muscles didn’t want to listen.

Wade got a hand under his side to help him up and patted at his shoulder awkwardly. “I’m sure you can replace your furniture with new stuff. Better stuff! IKEA STUFF!”

Peter’s head dropped down between his knees and he gave a shake. “Not that. Who gives a damn about that?”

“Does, uh, this have anything to do with that smoking redhead who was all over the news here a couple years ago?”

“She was always saying she needed me to be more present, and what do I fucking do? Just poof!” Peter snapped his fingers. “No answers. Couldn’t even do her the favour of dying. At least then maybe she could have some closure. No, I have to go dimension hopping and disappear into thin air for two fucking years.”

Wade made a strange squeaking sound beside him, clapping one hand to his mouth and flapping the other in Peter’s direction. “Two F-bombs!? In one fic? OMG, you really _are_ the dark!Spidey.”

As far as reactions went, it was preferable to the alternative, even if Peter had no idea what Wade was talking about. He hated when people spouted platitudes at him. Sometimes it felt like his life was nothing but platitudes. The trite little shit they tried to soothe him with after his parents had died. After Uncle Ben. After Gwen. After May. Then after the divorce it had been a lot quieter. The unforeseen benefit of losing everyone in your life who gave a shit was not having anyone around to comfort you with empty words.

“Why are you helping me?” Peter asked, hating how vulnerable it came out.

“You’re _Spider-Man_ ,” Wade said, like it _meant_ something to him.

“You and that other version of me, you said you worked together?”

“When he felt like slumming, sure.” Wade shifted from his crouch to sit down next to Peter, shoulder to shoulder. “But sometimes you gotta get a little dirty to get the job done, and I’m not afraid of getting dirty. Just call me Mike Rowe.”

Peter spared a smile that felt more like a grimace. “He was really young,” he forced out, around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” Wade said, with a little huff of laughter. He reached up on the bench and produced a bottle of water. It was covered in dust and lukewarm, but it still felt like heaven going down Peter’s throat.

“I kinda liked that naive optimism he had. Coming knocking with his adorable sanctimony, trying to bring me to the light with the Word of the Avengers.”

“Earlier, you didn’t seem surprised to see another version of him.”

Wade tapped the device with his free hand, the green numbers still displaying Peter’s home dimension. “I’ve seen a lot of you. And I wish that meant I’d seen a _lot_ of you,” Wade leered. “But sadly, I meant less in the exposed skin sort of way, and more in the can never unsee the man made of Spiders kind of way.” He shuddered, and Peter decided he didn’t want any further details on that universe. “I’m talking scarred for life by it, physically and mentally, b-t-dubs.”

Thinking of other Spider-People, a sudden, horrible thought occurred to Peter, jolting through him like an electric shock. What about the others? Gwen and Peni and the Peters. What if they hadn’t made it home, either. Or worse, what if they had, and their bodies had reacted like his had, upon arriving. “I have to-- I have to go, I have to--”

“Okay, okay,” Wade soothed, getting them both to their feet. “Where are we going?”


	2. Chapter 2

There was something about Aunt May’s that was comforting even here, in this universe where everything else felt wrong. In the time that had passed since he’d last visited, the damage from the battle had been repaired. Now it looked just as he remembered from his own universe. The familiarity was a balm.

“New to this breaking and entering thing? Normally one doesn’t approach the door and knock, Spidey,” Wade muttered at him, as they made their way up the walk. “It goes better when you don’t alert the occupants beforehand.”

“Would you knock it off,” Peter batted at him and made a shushing noise when they heard footsteps inside.

May took one look at him, eyes watering but refusing to yield tears, and swept Peter into a rough embrace. “You look like hell, kiddo,” she said when they parted. Her glance swept to Wade, lips pursing for a second before flattening out again. “Strange company you’re keeping.”

“You know Wade?” Peter asked.

May chuckled. “I think most people who know what the internet is know Deadpool.”

“I _knew_ it!” Wade pumped his fist gleefully. “At least your aunt and I visit the same websites!” At May and Peter’s looks, he cleared his throat and added, “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. Peter, uh. He mentioned his aunt a few times.” He clasped his hands before him, for all the world looking like the nervous teenager meeting his date’s parents for the first time. “He spoke very affectionately of you.”

May gave him a pat on the arm, which seemed to shore Wade up, at any rate. “Well, you better come on in. Neighbours see you out here they’re going to go into a panic. You wouldn’t believe how paranoid they are after last time.”

“Oooh,” Wade said. “Spill the tea. What did happen last time?”

Aunt May did just that, retelling the tale as she brewed a pot of jasmine tea, sat them down on the sofa, and levelled Peter with a stern look. “Now, care to explain what you’re doing back here?”

Peter laid it out for her, the second time in as many hours. Her frown seemed to deepen with each passing word. When Peter expressed his concerns for the others, she dismissed them. “The kiddo comes by pretty regularly.” A quick smile crossed her lips. “Pretty much made that shed his own. He’s talked about...” May flicked a quick glance in Wade’s direction and finally finished, “the others. Sounds like everyone’s fine.”

“He’s seen them? What did he say?”

“Not much,” May said, and gave him a pointed look. “He’s a teenage boy, not big on the sharing, as you’ll recall.” It was a bittersweet jab. This May was wonderful, but not his May. It wasn’t his teenage years she referred to with fond exasperation. Her Peter was nothing but a memory now. “You could try this new-fangled idea--talking to him.”

Peter sighed. “I can’t let him see me like this. He thought he was sending me home. He thought he was saving me. If I show up now, if he knows I’m dying, after your Peter…”

“I’m not sure it’s any worse than the last time he saw you.” May laid a hand on Peter’s. “And besides, he’d want to know. He deserves to know. He’s a lot stronger than you give him credit for.”

“It’s true.” Wade spoke up for the first time since they’d sat down, looking awkward with his big frame on May’s petite sofa, teacup in hand. “He’s a good kid. Way too smart to put up with my shit.” There was something more to that Wade wasn’t saying, but it hardly seemed important to press him on it now.

“Look, if I can figure out what’s happening, then we don’t need to worry him with this,” Peter said, and May just sighed. “Can I use the shed?”

“Do you really need to ask?” May said.

“This would be easier at home, in my lab,” Peter muttered, mind already starting to consider reasons why it was apparently only him affected, and what to do about it. He glanced at Wade, all drawn in on himself, like he could be smaller just by thinking it.

“Uh, thanks, I guess. For feeding me, and trying to get me home and not, you know, leaving me to die in my old apartment.”

“You scared the shit out of the new tenant. After you started your cubist impression, he thought we were ghosts.” Wade made little wiggly fingers and an _oooooh_ sound.

Peter buried his face in his hands and chuckled. “Oh god, I wonder if he knows I was the previous occupant, who disappeared two years ago. What did you say?”

“Probably a lot of profanity,” Wade said. “It would’ve been fun to fuck with him, but you were, like, melting. Less mild sunburn victim Gerard Butler, more old school Phantom of the Opera, missing nose and all. I got us the hell out of there.”

“That poor man,” Peter said and shook his head. “Anyway, thanks again.” He waited a beat, for Wade to get the hint that he was free to go, but he made no move to acknowledge it. “I gotta--” Peter jerked a thumb in the direction of the backyard. “Get to work, you know?”

Wade tried to put up a protest, but despite his bulk, Peter had him beat on the strength thing, and he’d manhandle Deadpool out the door if he had to. “You’ve been a great help, but unless you’ve got your PhD in Physics or Biochemistry…”

“Aww, man,” Wade moaned, foot wedged in the front door. “I knew I should’ve read that book by that wheelchair guy.”

“That’s astrophysics, Homer,” Peter said. “But seriously, I’ve got it handled from here.” He kicked Wade’s foot out and slammed the door shut.

Wade was left sputtering protests on the front stoop, but Peter would worry about that later.

May gave him an oddly reproachful look once the door had closed on him. “It’s _Deadpool_ ,” he protested.

“Oh, like that meant anything to you three hours ago.”

They made their way out to the shed. It wasn’t until they’d stepped onto the lift and it had begun to descend, and Peter could make out faint voices below, that May said, “Oh, you know, I forgot to mention. I texted Miles while I was making the tea.”

“You--May!” Peter hissed in dismay.

Sure enough, there was Miles, rushing to envelope him in a hug. “Peter, man, what are you doing here?” 

“Jeez, kid, you’ve grown.” Miles’ shoulders were broader, his chest filled out, and they were practically the same height. Hell, Miles might even beat him by a hair. 

Peter turned his attention to Gwen, who looked much the same, down to her hairstyle. She was leaning against the bank of computers with a faint smile on her face, and she lifted her hand in a little wave. Peter nodded in greeting.

“Good to see you all in one piece?”

“Right as rain,” Gwen said. “I’ve been to see Peni, and she’s fine too.”

Peter bit his lip as his mind raced. So it was just him then, for whatever reason. It was a relief to know the others were safe, but didn’t get him any closer to any kind of answer. “So you’re just casually hopping through dimensions?”

“Girl’s gotta have her secrets,” she said.

“You’re the second person I’ve come across today who shares that particular secret.” At Gwen’s questioning look, Peter added, “This guy, Deadpool.”

Miles’ gaze shuttered and Gwen’s brows shot up her forehead. “Deadpool, really?”

“Wade helped me out earlier. Tried to get me home.” Peter shrugged. “Seemed like an okay guy, aside from the motormouth and excessive weaponry.”

Gwen burst out laughing, and Miles shot her a look. “He’s seriously dangerous!” Miles said, and Gwen cooed and said, “You just need to know how to handle him.”

“You can,” a voice said from the dark. “Handle me, that is, if that was an offer.”

All four of them moved at the same time, spinning to face the intruder. Webs flew from Gwen, Miles, and Peter, while May whipped off her shoe and held it aloft and ready to throw at a moment’s notice.

Wade blinked back at them, webbed to the wall from shoulder to waist. He gave them a feeble wave, as much as he could from where his hand was trapped beside his thigh. “Hey, Spidey People.”

*

“Why do you guys always do this?” Wade whined. “Why is it never _cool party trick, Deadpool. ‘M gonna invite you to my next hootenanny. Nope. Just webs with you guys! Every time!_ ”

[Like your ‘shoot first, shoot second, fuck the questions’ ass has any room to speak.]

Wade had his assumptions about the kid running around calling himself Spider-Man in this universe, and seeing the face just confirmed it was one Miles Morales. He and Gwen were scrambling to pull their masks back over their faces.

[[Not gonna unring that bell.]]

“Wade, what the _hell_?” Peter positioned himself between Wade and the others, arms spread wide like he could shield them.

“Oh come on, it’s not like I didn’t know already. I mean, normally I’d pretend just to humour you, but I figured life-or-death situation was a more pressing matter.”

“And how did you already know?” Miles squeaked. “I’ve never-- you haven’t--”

Wade rolled his eyes. “Aye yi yi, kid, keep up. Dimension hopping. Errybody know about this party but the three of you!”

“You were supposed to get lost,” Peter growled.

“Yeah, sorry, but if you think I’m leaving after seeing what I’ve seen today, I ain't foolin' and you'd better think again.”

Wade was met with blank faces.“Seriously, nobody?” Wade gave May an imploring look. “Judas Priest?” Wade hummed the tune for a second before singing, “You got another thing coming!”

Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “I can handle myself from here.”

“And what happens the next time you glitch out?” Wade demanded. “You said yourself they’re getting more frequent. What happens when someone who wanted the other Spidey dead finds out there’s another Peter Parker walking around who just randomly becomes a defenseless pile of goo every couple hours or so?” 

Wade started to cross his arms and immediately came up against the webs binding him. Peter narrowed his eyes consideringly. “Staring contest time?” Wade asked. “I have to warn you, always win.”

[Only ‘cause Spidey-babe doesn’t know the lengths you’re willing to go to.]

[[Oooh, yes. You could staple your eyelids to your forehead -- or just cut ‘em off!]]

[Dooooo eeeet.]

“Fuck off Ben Stiller,” Wade gritted out between his teeth.

May at least had lowered her shoe. Wade didn’t know how he was managing to win her over, but he’d take it. 

[[How could she possibly resist your charms?]]

“Come on, Petey. I already know everyone’s names and faces, so there’s no point in kicking me out now,” Wade whined.

“Not everyday you meet someone as stubborn as you,” May muttered under her breath.

Peter shot her a glare, and huffed a breath before turning back to Wade. “Fine. Hang around if you want. Sure you’ll be super entertained by all the science we’re going to do.”

“Science!” Wade declared, in a booming voice, and followed it up with an explosion sound. 

Peter turned away with a roll of his eyes. Miles still looked concerned, but was apparently ready to follow Peter’s lead, and refocused his attention on the screen where Peter was typing something in.

“Can, uh, someone let me down? Guys?”

“Pool,” Gwen greeted. “Weird seeing you like that.” 

“Oooh, which version of me have you got?” Wade asked, gleeful. “Is it one of the ladies?”

“Let’s just say you’re a lot cuter and fuzzier where I come from,” Gwen told him with a grin.

“Does every universe but mine have a Deadpool?” Peter asked.

“Guess the cancer must have got to him before Francis in your ‘verse.”

[[Or _we_ got to ourselves before the cancer. Can't let that summbitch beat us every time.]]

[This is truly a chicken and egg moment, isn't it?]

[[But who will ever know the truth!?]]

[Ooooooh!]

Wade felt compelled to make the spooky hands to go along with the sound but came up short when he realised, once again, that he was still bound.

“I think it’s pretty obvious from everything you’ve told me about it so far, but yours is clearly the soggy fry of universes, all weird and gross,” Wade told him. “I knew that the minute you said Ranchitos had closed up shop.”

Gwen gave him a considering up and down. “I should probably just leave you there. The webs will wear off in a few hours.” Despite her words, she set about tearing them away.

Wade brushed his hands together, once free, and gave her a leer. “Now, what was that you said about handling me? Is the eye-rolling just an integral part of Spider-Man?”

[[It’s more of an involuntary reaction to your presence.]]

One fairly consistent detail across universes was Spidey’s skill at the sciencey stuff. Apparently including all Spidey People present. The three of them gathered around the computers, where the results of Peter’s scan were up on the display. Their voices overlapped with words like degeneration and necrosis and autophagy. 

“The problem isn’t necessarily the displacement of particles. It’s the presence of foreign particles operating at a different frequency than our own. Going back through the collider fixed that for the rest of us,” Gwen was saying. “It wasn’t a reversal though. Being in our own dimension acted as a stabilizer, and our healing abilities took care of the rest.”

“So going back to my own dimension should have fixed the problem,” Peter muttered.

“Yeah, but instead you ended up like a sad cartoon shoe after going in Dip.”

Peter ignored Wade in favour of studying a 3-D projection of what Wade assumed to be his DNA molecules floating in mid-air. There were huge gaps in the blue, some replaced with neon pink or yellow or green, others left empty. Even to a layman, it didn’t look right. It didn’t look like something that could sustain life. Wade absently wondered what his own looked like. 

[[Between the cancer mutations and the Weapon X? Some unholy mess, that’s for fucking sure.]]

“Yeah, and there’s the question of why the collider didn’t send you back in the first place,” Miles said. “If we could figure out why, maybe that would give some insight to the problem.”

“Right now,” Gwen said, stressing her words, “the problem is your t-cells aren’t discriminating against the subcellular particles that belong and those that don’t. They’re just disposing of everything. If we could find some way to boost your healing to encourage the propagation of healthy cells, it would at least stabilise for now, and then we could try to figure out the why.”

Peter dragged a hand over his face. His body slumped as though he was a puppet with one remaining uncut string, eyes underscored by dark fatigue bruises, bloodshot and shifting in and out of focus as he stared at the projection. 

“You know, this would be a lot easier back home.” He shook his head and redoubled his concentration, hand over his mouth and brow furrowed in thought, like if he stood there long enough, he could force the DNA to reassemble properly through sheer force of will alone.

It was, objectively speaking, incredibly hot.

[Of course you’re into the trash fire version of Spidey.]

[[Like attracts like, and all that.]]

“Fuck off,” Wade muttered.

“Okay,” Peter said, clapping his hands and startling Wade from his distracted state. “Here’s the plan. You have a version of Lizard in this dimension?” He aimed the question at Miles and Wade. “It was Doctor Curt Connors in my universe.”

Miles frowned in thought, tapping a finger to his chin. “I think Spider-Man fought him when I was a kid.” 

“Another stunning example of Oscorp’s lack of oversight,” Wade said. “‘The arrogance of man is thinking nature is in his control, not the other way around.’”

“That’s weirdly profound,” Peter said suspiciously.

Miles and Gwen shared a look and said, “It’s _Godzilla_ ,” at the same time.

Peter made a sound of annoyance. “Anyway, Connors was working with fibroblasts, which create the collagen fibers that make up like 30% of our bodies. Only in lizards, they can turn them into blastema, which are basically stem cells, and allows them to repair any damage, from something basic like limb regrowth, to growing entire organs.”

“Yeah, but in my universe, the mutations the formula caused when introduced to a human were deadly,” Gwen said, staring hard at the floor instead of Peter’s face. 

“Well, that’s because Connors’ body wasn’t able to handle it. He wasn’t a mutant. Basically, it was like stem cells on steroids.”

“So you’d need to tweak the formula to pull back on those protein extracts?” Miles murmured thoughtfully.

“Right. If it’s controlled within semi-normal limits, it’ll repair the damaged parts and encourage their reproduction. Then it can’t overrun my body if the glitches are destroying at the same rate the serum is reproducing. They’d balance out, at least for the time being.”

Miles said to Peter hopefully, “So all you need is Doctor Connor’s formula?”

Peter nodded, but there was something in his face. Wade knew that wasn’t the whole story. “It’s a start.”

“And where do you plan on getting that?” Gwen asked, brow arched.

Peter turned his attention to Wade with a cheerful smile on his face. “How would you feel about sneaking into Oscorp and stealing some shit with me?”

[A man after our own heart.]

“Sounds like my kinda mayhem.”

“You’re going to sneak into Oscorp looking like that?” Miles’ dubious look was directed, surprisingly, not at Wade, but at Peter.

May rolled her eyes. “I think I’ve got some clothes of Peter’s up in his old bedroom.”

“What about you?” Peter asked Wade. “You got anything a little more lowkey?”

“Uh, I think I might draw more attention out of costume than in it,” Wade said, then stopped and reconsidered. “Though, with the shit Osborn’s got going on in his labs, who knows what sort of Freddie-Kreugar-looking creatures they’ve got in there.”

“Okay, so we go in under the cover of night.” Peter looked at his wrist, like he expected to find a watch there, then grabbed Miles’ wrist instead and brought it up to look. “In that case, we’ve got a few hours til they close up for the night. Time to grab a bite.” He turned to May and gave her a shit-eating grin, batted his lashes and all. It should have been absurd on a man his age, but he had the sort of baby face to pull it off. “What are the chances of you making some of your world-famous lasagna?”

*

Wade mopped up the last of his sauce with his garlic bread. “Holy cow, that was incredible, you weren’t joking, Petey.” He turned with the whites of his mask wide to Aunt May. “You wouldn’t happen to be on the market for a new sugarbaby?” 

Three different feet kicked him under the table, and May gave him an indulgent look as she held up the pan. “Seconds?” 

[[I know it’s really difficult for you to go five minutes without thinking exclusively with your stomach or your dick, but maybe focus on the problem at hand?]]

The sun had set a while ago, and Peter’s glitching had already happened three more times since their arrival. “We should probably get a move on! Oscorp isn’t just gonna rob itself.” He pondered that for a moment. 

[Or will it?]

[[Can it? Have we looked into this possibility?]]

“I’ll leave a plate in the microwave.” May got to her feet and patted his shoulder as she passed, and Wade had a long moment where he tried to rack his brain for any instance when he’d _ever_ been touched with motherly concern. He and the boxes came up blank. “You boys be safe, now.”

“I still don’t see why we shouldn’t come along,” Gwen protested, as Peter donned a new, undamaged copy of his suit from the shed.

“Yeah, it’s been two years, you know,” Miles said, with a little pout. “I’ve gotten better.”

Peter placed a hand on his shoulder. “Miles, you are amazing. But the fewer of us that go in, the better. Harry always has his place crawling with guards. Two can slip past them more easily than four, no matter how good you are.”

“Yeah, but I can control the invisibility thing now, see?” To illustrate his point, Miles blinked out of sight. A second later, the mask was snatched out of Peter’s hand and dangled from above.

[Now there’s a useful superpower. Ooh, the things we could do with invisibility.]

Wade stalwartly ignored Yellow’s increasingly lewd and, most certainly, criminal suggestions. Miles reappeared crouched on the ceiling, grinning down at them. “They’d never even see me.”

“Look, kid.” Peter tried again. “This is my problem, and I’m not going to drag you two into it.”

“You’re not dragging us, we’re insisting. C’mon, man, I thought you trusted me.” Miles shoulders sagged as he spoke. Gwen just stood at his side, arms crossed, expression stony. 

“Okay, _fine_.” Peter sighed, hand to his temple. “But first sign of trouble, you two are out of there.”

“Yes!” Miles pumped his arm. “We can try out these cool Stark Tech earbuds I found in the shed!”

“You’re just a big ol’ softie,” Wade told Peter as the other two rushed off to suit up.

Peter gave him an exaggerated look head to toe. “Says the absolute stranger hellbent on saving my life.”

“Oh, I’m the softest, baby-face, except for when I’m the hardest.”

Wade left Peter red-faced and sputtering as he went off to call Dopinder. The kid had promise, having so far toted Wade all around the city and beyond without protest, and it was another tick in the pros column when he didn’t even blink as three Spideys climbed into the back of his cab. “And where are you all heading this fine evening?” he asked cheerfully.

“Comic-Con, clearly,” Peter muttered.

Wade gasped in delight. “Oh my stars and garters! Did you just fourth-wall break? If you don’t watch it, I’m definitely going to fall for you.”

Miles and Gwen, very suddenly and intensely, had anywhere else to look. Peter just stared at him as though he had lost his mind, which was fair enough. “What the hell are you talking about…”

“Take us to Oscorp, Dopinder!” Wade said over him.

It was deceptively quiet at the building this time of night. From the outside, there was no indication of the sinister experimentation going on inside. Somehow, time after time, Osborn managed to sweep the misdeeds of his alter ego under the rug and keep the company’s public image squeaky clean.

“You two wait on the roof. After Wade and I do a sweep of the research floors, we’ll give the all clear for you to join us. But stay put until I say, got it?”

The teens bobbed their heads in adorable unison and webbed off for the roof.

“Peter, I am shocked that you, the most forthright and pious of super heroes, would tell such a bald-faced lie to those children,” Wade gasped.

“If we just so happen to get what we need while we’re sweeping the place, well, then there’s no point in them tagging along now is there?” Peter asked with a guileless expression, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

[I’d like to melt in his mouth…]

Wade had to remind himself it was inappropriate to think about that sort of thing when Peter was _dying_.

[[Name one time, ever, that you’ve given a fuck about being appropriate. We’ll wait.]]

But, there was a mission, and Peter’s life was on the line, dammit!

Peter pulled his mask down over his face, gesturing for Wade to follow him. “C’mon!”

They made entry through the loading docks, where a semi was dropping off supplies at the back of the building. The workers were distracted going through the inventory, allowing Peter and Wade to slip by unnoticed and gain access to the duct system.

“You got any handy gadgets on your belt there to save us a climb?” Peter asked when they’d reached the joint in the duct where it led upwards.

“First, you mistake me for another Spidey, and now for Batman? Why can’t you just like me for me?” Wade hissed back, even as he was already fishing around for a grapple.

“Batman?” Peter paused in the process of contorting himself from a prone position to standing.

“Your universe is so sad,” Wade commented. “No Adam West? No Michael Keaton?”

“Oh, you mean those Tim Burton films,” Peter said with dawning awareness. “Here I thought it was another alternate universe thing, like he was bitten by radioactive bats.”

[[Now that would be a fun new twist we haven’t seen in any of the 7,000 iterations of that origin story.]]

Wade snorted in amusement. “Scoot over.”

Peter twisted around, pressed back against the wall of the duct. Wade had to admit, they were pretty roomy, all things considered, like Osborn was just asking for spies to take advantage of them to indulge in a little corporate espionage. Still, for two fully grown men, it was a squeeze. Wade rolled onto his back and pulled himself up by his arms into the next duct, all too aware of the drag of spandex and leather clad bodies rubbing together in the course of his progress.

“This is cozy,” Peter muttered, as Wade drew even with him, pressed together chest to thigh. Interestingly enough, he didn’t sound particularly put off by the situation. If anything, he sounded amused.

Wade shifted his grip on the grapple gun held between them. He hadn’t really thought this through. The gun nudged against Peter’s gut. “It’s just the gun from my pocket,” he said. “But don’t worry, we keep wriggling around like this, and I’ll be plenty happy to see you.”

Peter made an exasperated sound. “Would you come on before we suffocate?”

[Oh wow.]

[[It’s like he _wants_ you to be obscene.]]

“Is that an invitation, Peter?” Wade asked huskily.

The knee to his groin was Peter’s not so subtle response. Wade focused on that pain to distract himself from the pain in his arm as he dislocated his elbow to bring the gun up between them. 

Peter’s eyes went wide in horror. “Holy shit, did you just--”

“It’ll be fine, give me a minute,” Wade gritted through his teeth.

With the grapple, they made it to the labs quickly. The whole building was swarming with security, but up here, although ostensibly closed, there were still more than a few scientists moving between the 32nd and 35th floors, where the majority of the labs were housed. 

Once they’d clambered out of the ducts into an empty utility closet, Peter grabbed him by the forearm, gingerly turning it to examine his elbow. He was definitely bigger on the touching than most of his counterparts.

[[Certainly with far less revulsion.]]

[Give him time to get to know us.]

“It’s fine,” Wade tried to protest, but Peter just shushed him and reset the joint with a deft motion. 

Wade let out a little hiss of pain, and Peter whispered, “Sorry.”

“Honestly, that’s small potatoes compared to most of the damage I take,” Wade reassured him. 

Peter made for the door, and Wade snagged him by the elbow. He produced another device from his belt and held it up for Peter to see. “Precision EMP, for the cameras.”

Once those were disabled, Peter’s Spidey skills were handy for keeping an ear out for approaching footsteps, and by ducking into labs and side halls, they managed to make their way to Connor’s lab undetected. Wade had to force himself to focus. Despite his over-indulgence, Peter’s ass was still a sublime specimen, especially encased in blue spandex. It was sort of entrancing, watching the way the muscles shifted, he could almost imagine how it would give if Wade were to grab a handful. 

“Have you found anything?” Peter called, from where he was rummaging through a shelf full of petri dishes, mask pushed up to his hairline.

Wade was so distracted with his thoughts, he had forgotten the whole point of their mission. “Oh, uh... what are we looking for again?”

“Just anything to do with Connors’ serum.”

“Okay, so, like, anything that points to mad scientist activity, check. A flask with a skull and crossbones. Files labelled _Top Secret_ in red with a biohazard symbol. Little vial with a lizard on the label.” 

Peter’s unimpressed scowl spoke volumes, and Wade gave him the double finger guns before he headed off for Connors’ desk. He flipped absently through piles of papers. It looked like this place had been left untouched in the years that had passed since Connors’ transformation. The papers were nothing but nonsense to him with strings of numbers and letters.

“It’s amazing the way Connors found a way to deliver the mutagenic compound throughout the entire human body,” Peter said absently.

“Yeah, real impressive. And no one even had to torture him relentlessly for weeks on end until his body mutated the ability!” 

Peter turned to stare at him, and Wade waved him off. It looked as though Peter was going to say something, but before he could, the Stark Tech earpiece crackled to life with Miles’ voice. “Are you guys in yet?”

“Uh, still working on getting past the guards,” Peter whispered. It wasn’t exactly a lie. There were a lot of fucking guards in this place. In fact, just then, Peter grabbed him by the arm and dragged Wade down behind a desk just as the door opened for a guard to peek in briefly, before leaving again.

“You know,” Wade hummed nonchalantly, “And I’m just putting this out there, do with it what you will, but I could take care of the guard problem pretty quickly.” He tapped the butt of his Desert Eagle meaningfully.

“Are you insane?” Peter hissed, eyes wide.

“Actually, yes. I mean, it’s usually pretty apparent from the get-go, but you seemed like you were having a rough day, week, I don’t know, life, so I figured I’d spring it on you a little more gradually.”

“You can’t spring things gradually,” Gwen said.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I was speaking before an expert on phrasal verbology.”

“Guys,” Miles said urgently, “can we focus?”

Peter batted Wade’s hand away from his gun. “We’re not shooting anyone!” He ignored Wade’s disappointed _awww_ and moved on to a refrigerator. The test tubes inside were labelled and stored in neat rows. Peter pushed them around and frowned. “It’s not here. Osborn’s probably got it locked up somewhere.”

“Oh hey, there’s a vault on 35,” Miles said. “I had to break in last year. There was this alien symbiote thing -- totally crazy.”

“Oh, yeah, Venom,” Gwen and Peter said simultaneously.

“35th floor,” Peter said. “Okay, back in the air ducts.”

“We’re coming in to help,” Miles said.

“No, you’re no--” Peter froze, head tilting to the side. “Somebody’s coming.” He tugged his mask back down over his face.

“--triggered the alarm on the samples,” a voice was saying. 

“Someone is going to have to alert Mister Osborn, and I’m not doing it.”

“Alert Mister Osborn of what?” A third voice asked, and Peter muttered, “Well, shit.”

A second later, the door to the lab burst open and there was Harry Osborn, already looking a little green around the edges, along with three guards and a terrified looking woman in a lab coat. 

“Harry,” Peter said the name with volumes of history behind it. “Good to see you’re following in your father’s footsteps, again.”

“Do I know you?” Harry asked, eyes cold.

“Oh yeah, I guess we probably haven’t met in this universe. I’m Spider-Man,” he spoke slowly, as if to a small child.

Harry gave him a sneer. “Clearly, and you’ve brought a friend. Is Octavius breeding you upstate?”

“Aww, someone else mistaking me for you!”

“Finally, someone else who doesn’t know you on sight!” Peter exclaimed.

“That works to my advantage, actually. You know,” he said conversationally to Osborn and his guards as he approached them. The katana made a familiar, comforting ringing sound as he drew them from their sheaths. “I used to maim and dismember all the time. I mean, I still do, but I used to, too.”

“Can you _try_ to keep the civilian casualties to a minimum?” There was a plaintiveness to Peter’s tone that was sort of adorable.

“Define ‘minimum,’ Spidey-babe.”

“Just, can we aim for injuries versus outright murder?” 

Peter sounded so weary, Wade felt compelled to agree.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” 

They sprung into action together, the same time Osborn began to transform. “I wouldn’t say following in Norman’s footsteps exactly.” His voice came out several pitches lower, a growl that vibrated throughout the room. “Dad never had the patience to perfect a formula.”

“It’s like none of you assholes have heard of conservation of mass.” Peter muttered, as he propelled himself towards Goblin. He went high, webbing to the ceiling and swinging forward to kick Goblin in the face with enough force to send him flying back out of the room. 

Wade went low, under the gunfire laid out by the goons to let them think he was vulnerable for the time being. It was always fun to really savour the moment of realisation on their faces when the bullets didn’t stop him.

He came up at the nearest guy, sliding one blade between the grip and trigger guard of his gun and bringing the other up over the barrel. With a twist and flick of his wrist, the gun went flying. Before the guy had time to react, Wade was already on his feet again, flinging one blade through the air at the guy charging him, sending him toppling backwards, and bringing up the hilt of the other to bash his newly disarmed friend in the face.

“Jesus, have you ever used a gun before today?” he asked of the third guy, who’d already fired several rounds, each one missing. “I’d like to think Harry Osborn could afford better than a recent graduate of the Imperial Stormtrooper Marksmanship Academy.”

“Maybe he just can’t get past your Plot Armour,” Peter called back. Wade caught a glimpse of him in the hall before Goblin charged and drove him out of sight again.

“Oh, he’s all grown up and getting Genre Savvy on me.” Wade swung his blade down, forcing the guy to block with his rifle high above his head. He grabbed the barrel near the muzzle, barely registering the heat, and forced it up and out. Bullets sprayed, lining the wall and ceiling with holes as Wade twisted his katana, and the guy let out a sound of pain before finally letting go. Wade let momentum carry him, spinning to backhand the guy across the face with the gun, and he went down hard. “Next thing you know it’s gonna be text boxes everywhere!” 

The second guy was struggling back to his feet. 

[A for effort.]

[[These morons need to learn to just play dead when they’re only in it for the paycheck.]]

Wade groaned. “They don’t get back up if you just let me put a bullet in the brainpan.” He slowed the guy with an elbow to his face and drove his katana through his foot. “Squish!”

There was a crash and resulting roar in the hallway, then the sound of glass shattering. Peter came skittering through the doorframe just as Wade kicked the guy in the balls. “That’s my purse. I don’t know you!”

Peter let out a little surprised laugh before quickly stifling it, but Wade had heard it. 

[That totally counts!]

“I’m suddenly beginning to understand why the Avengers were always so annoyed when I used to work with them,” Peter said.

“How’s Osborn?” Wade asked.

Peter craned his neck back to look down the hall. “Really pissed. Okay guys, change of plan. Wade and I are going to lead him on a chase. You two get in, get the serum, then get the hell out of Dodge.”

Wade collected his katanas and resheathed them before he followed Peter out. They tore down the hall as an alarm began blaring. Peter glanced at him side long. “Were you shot?” he actually sounded concerned, earning an obnoxious coo from Yellow.

“Was I?” Wade glanced down at his shoulder, where a hole pierced through his suit, exposing a bloody mess beneath. “Would you look at that? Not exactly centre mass, but at least one of them was able to hit something.”

Peter made a strangled sound. “You were _shot_ , Wade.”

“Meh.”

The floor began to shake with Goblin’s pursuit, and that distracted Peter for the time being. “Stairs, let’s go.”

It was only four floors to the roof, which was a better place to take the fight than the street below. They’d barely made it through the door at the top of the stairs before Green Goblin came crashing through the skylight in a shower of glass and metal. His wide leathery wings beat strong enough that the force of the wind they produced was staggering.

“Goblin’s a bit of a misnomer, don’t you think?” Peter called out. 

“Dragon definitely feels more appropriate,” Wade agreed.

Goblin dove towards Spider-Man, bringing his fist down. Spidey dodged with a neat little slide onto his knees, back arched. Even with the extra age and weight, there was no denying the underlying gymnast’s grace in his movements. Wade was sort of entranced by the way he came back up in one fluid roll of his spine. He caught Goblin by the wrist from beneath, stopped him dead in the air and, with a twist of his hips and torso, sent him flying backwards.

“We need to draw him away,” Peter said, while Goblin was still caught in a tailspin at a distance. “I don’t want him anywhere near the others.”

“Great,” Wade agreed readily. “I’ve got a fool-proof plan.”

Peter tilted his head expectantly and when Wade said nothing, prompted, “I’m all ears.”

“Actually,” Wade said thoughtfully, “I hadn’t got past the phrase ‘fool-proof plan.’ Guess I’ll just wing it.” He threw a little salute in Peter’s direction and got a running start for the edge of the roof. Behind him, Peter called his name, sounding panicked, but Wade had already flung himself off in Goblin’s direction.

His flight through the air was definitely far more graceless than anything Peter could do, but Wade managed to grab onto Goblin by the tail, making him roar in disapproval. “Who _are_ you?” He’d managed to regain control of his flight and whipped his tail in an attempt to dislodge Wade.

“I’m your Meantime Boy, wishing I were more,” Wade said. With a grunt, he swung his legs up to wrap around Goblin’s thigh, and then pulled himself up, grappling up his spiny back to get around his wings. They were strong fuckers, twisting and tugging against his hold, but it was serving Spidey’s purpose. Their struggle was taking them away from Oscorp, higher and further east, towards the water.

“You are a crazy motherfucker,” Spidey shouted, from where Wade was vaguely aware of him swinging after them.

“We covered this already!” Wade shouted back, words muffled against leathery skin, then, to Goblin. “Why can’t you just commit?”

“Always the bridesmaid,” Peter called out.

Goblin crashed into the side of a building, and Wade took the brunt of it. The force was strong enough for him to momentarily lose his grip; that was all it took for Goblin to break free, sending Wade toppling to the ground. He didn’t get very far before Peter swung in, grabbing him around the waist and arcing them through the air.

“I like the way you fight, Wilson,” Peter told him, voice startlingly close to Wade’s ear. “Unconventional, maybe.”

“Gotta keep ‘em on their toes.”

Peter laughed, breath warm through two masks. “Well, you certainly succeeded at that.”

They turned mid-air, dropping as Peter released one web and threw out another. “Hang on,” he said.

Wade had a split second to realise he meant that literally and wrap himself around Peter like an octopus before Peter let go. With his newly freed arm, he flung out another web at Goblin, right at the base of his wing, which was now bent at an odd angle thanks to Wade’s efforts. He gave a tug and brought them all down to the ground in an empty parking lot of cracked asphalt and overgrown weeds.

Before Goblin had a chance to get to his feet, Spidey was slinging more webs, moving fast to completely encase him in a thick layer. He moved differently from the Peter Wade had fought alongside before. His swinging was both more casual and economical. None of the fancy moves the other Peter liked to show off with. Maybe it was experience, or some other deeper difference between the two men, that led him not to draw it out. In a matter of moments, he’d tethered his webs in between the light posts dotting the lot. Goblin twisted frantically, his muscles bulging around the cut of the strands. Though they strained under the force, they held.

Peter came to rest in front of Goblin, landing light on his feet. “Harry, Harry.” It was more reminiscent of a cat than a spider, really, the way he darted nimbly backwards to dodge Goblin’s snapping jaws. “I know, you always have to do everything bigger and better than your father, but you still never manage to succeed in any of the places he failed.”

“Oh Jesus, is you sound just as sanctimonious as the original version of Spider-Man.” Slowly the dragon-like features receded. “You know, my father came pretty close to killing him. Maybe I’ll do what he couldn’t finish.”

“We’ve got the serums,” Gwen’s announced. “Miles electrocuted a guy.”

“Just a little bit!” Miles cried out frantically. “He’s not dead.”

Peter facepalmed, which was adorable and endearing. “Please, tell me you’re both in one piece.”

“And already on our way home!” Gwen confirmed.

“Terrific.” Peter turned back to Goblin. “It’s been a lot of fun catching up with you, Harry, but the purpose of our distraction has been served.”

With that, he grabbed Wade again and swung off using the nearest building. Behind them, Goblin was spitting out furious threats, but frankly, it was difficult to pay any attention. Wade was man enough to admit that he was more than a little breathless from the way Peter had just manhandled him like that, and okay, maybe he had a kink for people that could just literally sweep him off his feet. There was nothing wrong with that!

After they’d put some distance between them and the Goblin, Peter came to a rest atop an apartment building on the edge of Long Island City. Wade stumbled back a few steps, unsteady on his feet when Peter released him. Peter advanced on him, pulling up his mask in the process, and holy shit, the open grin he wore took ten years off his face. He was fucking gorgeous, better than those pictures on the news with his temples streaked in sweat and hair rippling in the breeze that came off the river.

“You absolute maniac, oh my god, you just leapt off the building at him; I love it, I love you. Where the hell are you in my universe?” 

It was a completely different person in front of Wade. Peter stood taller, shoulders back, almost as if the universe had spit out yet another, more confident version of Spidey.

Wade dropped down to sit on the edge of the roof. “Consider yourself lucky. There are some seriously shitty versions of me running around out there. Dodged a bullet.”

Peter sat down beside him legs kicking back and forth like a kid. He reached up to pluck the earpiece out and tuck it into a pocket. It felt like a vulnerable moment, and Wade felt compelled to respond in kind. He tugged his mask up enough to get the earpiece out and pocketed it.

There was something unnerving about the way Peter stared at him, like he barely even noticed the scars. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.

“I wouldn't recommend it, no.”

Peter just laughed and bumped their shoulders together as he leaned in. Voice pitched low in a faux whisper, he said, “That’s the most fun I’ve had being Spider-Man in a long time.”

“The other Peter certainly had a sort of joie de vivre that, no offense, you’ve seemed to be lacking.”

Peter sighed and fell back on his hands propped up behind him. “Sure. At twenty-six, life seemed pretty fucking great. Newly wed, finishing up school, and then something went wrong; fuck if I know where.” He shook his head. “I guess it started feeling like being Spider-Man was an obligation rather than an honour, or like, I don’t know... like he was a completely different person, someone at odds with me.”

“Is it time for exposition and backstories?” Wade asked warily. “Because if so, boy, do I know feeling like you’re two different people. Or three, for that matter.”

At Peter’s questioning look, Wade waved a finger towards his head. “Side-effect of my mutation plus some really questionable life choices, and a supervillain with a hard-on for driving me crazy with regeneration abilities to rival my own. Voila! You get little floaty boxes screaming in your head.” He gave Peter a grim smile. “See? Crazy.”

Peter shrugged. “I guess it’s a matter of perspective.” He glanced over at Wade, gaze catching on his damaged suit. “Hey, how’s your shoulder.” He leaned in to examine in, bringing up a hand to probe, and Wade brushed him off.

“Jeez, mother hen. Go practice your parenting instincts with someone else.”

“Excuse me for caring, asshole,” Peter said, but the words had no sting. “I’ve been spending a lot of time around practical children with no sense of self-preservation.” He got to his feet, perched right on the edge of the building, and did one of his full-body stretches that had no right looking so goddamn appealing. “Speaking of which, we should get back.”

The words were barely past his lips when Peter bent in half, the air around him lighting up with now familiar neon lights and shapes, and he tipped backwards off the rooftop. Wade shot to his feet and dove after him.


	3. Chapter 3

The glitch hit Peter with all the force of a speeding train, and he had a split second to consider the implication of his heels hanging over thin air before his senses were in overload and he was in free fall.

Over the tearing, grinding, _searing_ pain, he was aware of a hand grabbing him by the front of his suit and a shift in balance. Being flung back towards the roof while the counter balance went over the edge in his place. Peter let out a cry of horror at the realisation that it was Wade who’d saved him, and Wade who was falling a hundred feet to the ground.

He had no idea how much time passed before the glitch subsided. Peter hauled himself to his feet, muscles still twitching with the aftershocks, and propelled himself over the edge of the roof, flinging out a web to carry him to the pavement below.

Wade lay prone a short distance away, limbs at odd angles. A pool of blood spread over the ground beneath him, and Peter almost tripped in his rush to get over to his side. “Oh fuck, oh Wade.” He knelt down and tugged gently at the edge of Wade’s mask, peeling back to reveal the scar dimpled skin beneath. Two fingers pressed against his pulse point confirmed Peter’s fear.

Peter fell back on his heels, blinking rapidly. Holy shit, he didn’t even know the last time he’d cried. After things had fallen apart with MJ, it was like he’d been completely drained of tears, and now here they were, pricking at his eyes, over this crazy asshole. “Fuck!” He punched Wade in the shoulder and then immediately bile rose up in his throat at the way his body moved limply. “Why do you keep trying to save me?”

“Because you’re Spider-Man.”

Peter let out a shriek at a pitch he didn’t even know he could reach. “WADE?”

“Can you keep it down?” Wade muttered. “I’ve got a hell of a headache.” His eyes blinked open, and for the first time Peter could properly see that they were a shocking, vibrant blue.

“How the fuck are you even alive?” Peter craned his neck back to take in all ten stories of the building.

“Healing factor,” Wade croaked out. “Can you help a guy up here?”

“Yeah but -- I don’t think you should move.” Despite his protest, Peter let Wade grab him by the hand and helped him into a seated position. Peter had to bite down hard on his lip against the urge to scream or vomit at the sight of the back of Wade’s caved in head. “Oh fuck, there are parts on the outside that definitely belong on the inside.”

“Just give it a minute.”

Before his very eyes, Peter watched as the bits of skull began to shift, and the skin started knitting back together. Within a couple of minutes, besides the blood and lingering bits of grey matter, he looked good as new. “Hell of a healing factor.”

“Pretty much invincible,” Wade said. “Or at least, really good at putting myself back together again; no involvement of horses or men necessary.” Peter sagged in relief.

Wade ran a hand over the back of his head, then up over the top of his skull to his face. “Well, I guess that cat is out of the bag.” At Peter’s questioning look, Wade shoved a finger in his chest. “No more swinging until this glitching issue is resolved.”

“So how do you expect to get home, public transit?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness, the plebs have to get around somehow.”

Peter let out an exasperated sound and guestured between the two of them. “You look like you just survived a massacre.”

“Let’s be real,” Wade said. “People have seen worse things on the subway.” 

Peter couldn’t really argue with that. He got to his feet, legs still embarrassingly weak, and offered Wade a hand up. Then he almost lost his lasagna again at the sound Wade’s fibula made, snapping together. 

Wade looked around, getting his bearings. “In fact, after two in the morning every second Tuesday, the Q line turns into Times Square Mascot Ultimate Fighting Ring.”

“No.” Peter gauged his face. “Seriously?”

Wade nodded his head earnestly. “Oh yeah, you haven’t lived til you’ve seen Winnie the Pooh ground and pound Anti-Semitic Elmo.”

“And you say my world is fucked up.”

They hobbled together to the closest station. “Oh hey! I think this is where I got hit by a train that one time.” 

The train was blissfully empty, despite Wade’s threats, and they made it back to May’s in under an hour. Turned out Wade was right to have insisted on it. The glitches were coming more frequently now. Peter had two more just on the train ride.

Miles was all over them when they came in. “What happened to you guys? Why did you take your earpieces out? We thought Goblin had got you.”

“I figured you’d stopped off somewhere to stuff your mouth,” Gwen interjected.

Wade clapped his hands over Miles’ ears. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, young lady. And there are _children present_.”

Miles shoved him off. “Do you have to be disgusting about everything?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, I do,” Wade said with a nod of his head. “And look, I’m normally all about that post-fight calorie overload, but how about fixing the glitching first, then gorge ourselves to death on del Taco after.”

“So, you just take the serum and the glitching stops, right?” Miles asked, back in the shed.

“Yeah, about that…” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck and cringed at the disbelieving look Miles sent him. It was harder being such a screw up when the kid kept looking at him like he expected more. “So the thing is, I’m not sure my healing is powerful enough to counter the propagation of the protein extracts. If not, it might mutate me... again.”

Gwen’s expression was something between grief and rage. “I can’t _believe_ you’d even consider taking the serum without knowing for sure.”

“Gw--”

“Oh, you think I don’t get it? You’re going to die anyway, right? So what does it matter if this kills you faster!”

“I’m _trying_ to keep that from happening,” Peter shouted back and then caught himself. Drew a deep breath and let it out in a long exhale. “I get it, okay? It wasn’t Connors for you, was it?”

Gwen crossed her arms over her chest, hands clenched tightly around her elbows, and looked away instead of answering.

Peter considered touching her and then thought better of it. “All we need to do is see how the serum triggers enzymes of a mutant with a more powerful healing factor.”

“Hello.” Wade gave a little wave. “Is it me you’re looking for?”

“I didn’t want to assume,” Peter said. “I don’t even know how your mutation works.”

Wade scoffed. “What’ve we got to lose?” He held out both arms in front of himself. “Shoot me up, baby.”

*

“How is this supposed to work again?” Wade asked, eyeing the syringe dubiously.

“Well, we isolated the best place to extract the protein, so we ended up with more of it as opposed to other types of proteins or enzymes. Then, we basically broke open your cells, used a solvent to increase the solubility of the protein, and now we’ve suspended it in the dialysate, with the semipermeable membrane-”

“Sounds fake, but okay.” Wade shrugged. “How sure are you that this is going to work?”

Peter tipped his hand back and forth consideringly. “80 percent?” Thankfully Gwen had gone upstairs a while ago, after they’d extracted the enzymes from Wade, and wasn’t there to hear it.

“Those don’t sound like the greatest odds,” Miles said. He sidled further from Peter’s side with a wary look. “Maybe we should--”

Another glitch cut off the rest of what Miles said. Peter was dimly aware of the voices, and the sensation of falling. Someone caught him, but it was like the outside world trying to work its way into a dream -- all muffled and hazy. 

It really seemed like he should be getting used to this by now, but if anything, it was the exact opposite. Each glitch hit him more powerfully than the one before and left him gasping for breath, heart pounding, blinking rapidly to readjust to the lighting.

“Fuck!” His head felt like it might split open like Wade’s had earlier and spill his brain all over the floor. Miles and Wade were crouched on either side, twin expressions of concern. “The syringe?”

“I caught it,” Miles said, holding it up. Peter snatched it quickly, and Miles made a little aborted sound and movement, like he was going to try to stop him, and froze. 

Peter put the tip between his teeth, yanking off the plastic guard, and jammed it in his arm, then depressed the plunger. They both stared at Peter expectantly, like he might begin to morph into some horrifying neon chimera right before their eyes.

“Is it working?” Miles asked.

Wade gave Peter a hesitant poke in the shoulder. “How do we know?”

With a groan, Peter began to haul himself to his feet. Wade and Miles jumped up and pulled him up with them, handling him like he weighed little more than a feather. Peter shrugged them off and turned to the computer bank, supporting himself on the table, and began tapping on the keyboard. There was a whirring sound as the fancy Stark Tech diagnostic scanner lowered from the ceiling. Seriously, this place was just absurd. Must’ve been nice, being funded by a billionaire.

The bright white light began its scan up and down his body, and they all waited for the computer to give its results. A box popped up, displaying the enzyme levels.

“It’s stabilizing,” Peter breathed, jaw dropping in disbelief at what he saw before him. They were levelling out, the serum countering the breakdown of the MMPs. “How the hell did that actually work?”

“IDK man, it’s like someone just strung a bunch of nonsense words together and poof, here we are,” Wade said.

Miles called Gwen down, who hurried in to nudge Peter aside and squint at the display. “Yeah, but this is just a stopgap measure. We still need to figure out why it’s even happening in the first place, so we can fix you and get you home.”

“You worry too much.” Peter nudged her with his hip, halfway through the familiar movement before her size and costume brought him up short with the reminder that this wasn’t _his_ Gwen. 

Still, she didn’t seem to mind, just quirked a crooked-looking smile up at him. “One of us has to give a shit.”

“You know, we might find some answers at Alchemax,” Miles suggested.

“Liv has spent most of her life devoted to studying string theory.”

Peter jumped at the sound of May’s voice. He still wasn’t used to hearing it again, after how long it had been back home. “Didn’t hear you come down,” he said.

“House full of fucking ninjas,” Wade muttered.

“Do you all realise it’s two in the morning?” May demanded.

Peter rubbed sheepishly at his neck. “Sorry, May.”

She pushed off the bank of illuminated cases where the spare suits were displayed, and came over to pat him gently on the forearm. “Did you fix it?”

“For _now,_ ” Gwen said pointedly, and Peter rolled his eyes at her, earning him a tongue stuck out.

May regarded them with fondness. “I’m sure you can find all the answers you’re looking for at Alchemax, in the morning.”

“Yes, May,” came the echoing answer from Peter, Miles, and Gwen. 

They made their way to the lift, and May followed them up, a hand on Wade’s back propelling him forward as well. “You’ve definitely earned your second helping.”

In the kitchen, May made them hot cocoa and brought out a plate of snickerdoodles, which disappeared in a matter of seconds. “You kiddos taking the spare room?” May asked of Gwen and Miles, and when they agreed, she ushered them upstairs. “I’ve got Peter’s old bed made up for you,” she tossed over her shoulder at Peter as she went.

“You haven’t gone all rainbow nightmare creature on us in at least an hour,” Wade commented, when they’d gone. Peter could still hear their voices trailing quietly from upstairs. It was oddly comforting.

“Seems like a good sign,” Peter agreed. He dragged a hand over his face and rubbed at his eyes. They were gritty and sore, like they might fall out of his head if he kept them open any longer, only closing them didn’t feel much better. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to get some fucking sleep.” His words were interrupted by a jaw-splitting yawn.

“What does the superhero code say about illicit drug use?” Wade asked. “Because I could totally help out with that sleep problem.”

Peter shoved at his shoulder with a grin. “Stahp.” 

Wade smiled back, and in the dim glow of the light over the sink, the scars of his face were mostly lost in shadow. It gave Peter an idea of the underlying bone structure, and he couldn’t help but wonder how a man with healing powerful enough to come back from the dead could end up so extensively scarred. 

It just didn’t seem like Wade would care to hear the question.

Peter stared down at his cocoa, twisting the mug over the surface of the table. “I uh. I don’t have a lot of people who really care what happens to me anymore.”

Wade arched a hairless brow in question and glanced upward pointedly to the muffled voices above. Peter clicked his tongue. “Right. Everyone who gives a shit lives in alternate dimensions. So thanks for, you know, not letting me die.”

“Hey, at least you have people who give a shit,” Wade joked, except it clearly wasn’t a joke. “‘Sides can’t let anything happen to you. Who would I put up on a pedestal in your place? Jessica Jones? Captain Marvel? Ant-Man??”

“I guess it really depends on your level of alcohol consumption, ability to break the sound barrier through self-propelled flight, or... I don’t know?” Peter gestured absently as he searched for the words. “Your affinity for insects?”

“Nah.” Wade’s smirk was mostly lost in shadow, but Peter could just make it out. “I think I’ll keep kneeling at the altar of dat booty.” Peter scoffed and felt an inexplicable flush in his cheeks. “Hey, by the way, if you want some company tomorrow, I’m happy to tag along.”

Peter almost said _you don’t have to_ , before he realised he wanted Wade there. Tonight had been fun, and Wade was more than a little useful in a fight. not to mention the seemingly bottomless pouches of his that were just as likely to produce a grapple gun as a subway pass. “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

Wade gave him a quick smile, then pulled out his mask and began to tug it back in place. Peter grimaced at the caked on blood. “For now, I should probably skedaddle.”

“You could probably stay?” It wasn’t Peter’s place to invite him, but it didn’t seem right to kick Wade out. “If you wanted.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna put May out.”

As if summoned by Wade’s words, May came back into the kitchen just then, smacking a folded afgan against his chest. Wade’s arms came up automatically to clutch it, and looked down to watch her pile a pillow and towel on top. “Bathroom’s up stairs, second door on the right. Don’t get any blood on my sofa, Wade Wilson.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said meekly.

“And don’t take all the hot water,” Peter shouted after him.

“We could share,” Wade sing-songed back. “I’m all about conservation, baby.”

*

Peter woke up to sunlight spilling through the blinds. It had that cold, watery, early morning quality to it. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed that it wasn’t even 8 a.m. Yet somehow, Peter hadn’t felt this well-rested in god knew how long. He gave a full body stretch, really feeling it in his back and legs. Just lying here, he could give into the bone deep soreness that he’d been stalwartly ignoring since he’d first arrived in this dimension.

The scent of bacon, pancakes, and coffee drifted under the gap in the door. If he closed his eyes and let his mind drift, Peter could almost imagine he was sixteen again. That he’d open that door to find his own Uncle Ben in his chair by the door, reading the morning paper. Be greeted by his own Aunt May with a kiss on the cheek as he rushed through the kitchen on his way out the door. He’d always been in such a goddamn hurry back then.

“Hey!” Someone kicked the baseboard outside his bedroom door. No, not his. The other Peter’s. He had to remind himself, no matter how long he lingered, this wasn’t his life. “Move it, lazy bones.”

Peter found a burst of energy from who knows where and put on a little speed to get to the door and fling it open, cackling when Gwen jumped in surprise. She punched him in the shoulder. “There’s food. Deadpool makes crazy good pancakes.”

It turned out Gwen spoke the truth. The pancakes were fluffy and buttery with just a hint of sweetness. Peter stuffed one whole in his face. They didn’t even need syrup. “Oh my god, Wade.” He groaned, and Wade just stared at him, which was unnerving with his mask pulled down just above his nose.

May smacked at Peter’s hand as he reached for a second pancake. “Chew with your mouth closed,” she said. “You weren’t raised in a barn.”

“I was googling Alchemax this morning,” Miles said.

“Lots of real winners working up there,” Wade muttered. “Got a Gold Card from PETA last year -- really difficult to figure out which is the bigger group of terrorists between the two, let’s be real. Turns out all their claims of being cruelty free is a big fat lie, if you can believe it.”

“What did you _do_?” Gwen asked.

“Oh wait!” Miles’ face lit up. “I read about that! You’re the one who set all the test animals free and closed down the 587!” He offered a fist for Wade to bump.

“Of course you did.” Peter swallowed and washed down his pancake with a mouthful of way too hot coffee. “How’s good ol’ Liv doing?”

May blew over the surface of her own coffee. “Combination of traction and lots of morphine seemed to have chilled her out a bit,” she said.

“As far as I can tell, everything’s on the up and up,” Miles said. “I haven’t heard anything out of her since they locked up Kingpin.”

Peter rubbed absently at his neck. With his healing factor, the bruises from her choking him had long since faded, but what had been two years for them had only been a couple of days for him, and the memory was fresh. “Still, we should try to avoid her, if we can.”

“You know,” Miles said, in that aggrieved way that only teenagers could manage. “I can _turn invisible_. I just sneak in, get the info we need, and bam!”

“Or,” Peter said, “you could get to school, young man.”

“Ugh.” Miles’ untied shoes dragged on the floor as Peter pushed him in the direction of the door. “Since when are you the responsible one?”

Peter made an indignant sound, looking around at the rest of them, only to find May’s shoulders shaking with laughter and Gwen studiously avoiding his gaze. Wade didn’t even try to conceal his mirth.

“C’mon, man, we got the job done last night.”

Peter stopped pushing, mostly futile with their strength cancelling each other out anyway, and placed both hands on Miles’ shoulders. It was jarring to not have to look down any longer to meet him eye to eye. “I don’t think I can stress just how proud I am of you, Miles, but Wade and I have this covered.” 

Miles’ rebellious pout reminded Peter suddenly and vividly of himself at seventeen, and he had to chuckle. “Look, I get it. I remember when I was your age and thought every single crime in New York City needed my personal attention.” He ruffled the hair at the back of Miles’ neck. “Sometimes you gotta trust that someone else can handle it, and you can go be a kid for a while.”

“Not a kid,” Miles muttered, but there was a grudging smile threatening the corner of his lips. He gave Deadpool a courteous nod and May pulled him in for a hug and kiss to the forehead, though she had to go up on her toes to deliver it. “You coming?” he asked Gwen, on his way out the door.

“Yeah, I gotta run too,” Gwen said, tossing a wave over her shoulder. “Got some stuff to deal with back home. Miles knows how to get in touch with me if you need me.” She paused at the door to give Peter a smile that was all too familiar from looking in the mirror, sadness and guilt in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re not gonna die.” And then to Deadpool. “Thanks for helping his dumb ass.”

“Hey!” Peter protested.

“Don’t worry, Spidey-babe, there ain’t nothing dumb about your ass.”

Gwen ignored them, giving May a hug, then ducking out the door calling after Miles. They left a ringing silence behind them that brought Peter back to the issue at hand. He turned to May, who was gathering up dishes. “So, are you ever gonna tell me how it is you are on a first name basis with ‘Only my friends call me Liv’ Octavius?”

A sly smile crossed May’s face and was gone in the blink of an eye. “Not sure that’s any of your business.”

“I’m pretty sure your aunt was banging your arch nemesis at some point,” Wade told him, when they’d headed out do the Spider Shed to gather their things.

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Wade in disbelief. “She was married to my Uncle Ben.”

“Bi people exist, Peter.” Wade looked way too amused for Peter’s liking.

“I know that,” he snapped, starting up again towards the shed, walking faster. Wade was on his heels, walking too close for comfort in a way that made Peter feel weirdly warm. He gave him a side-long look.

“Yeah?” Wade wiggled his brows as if to suggest Peter might know from personal experience.

“Yes!” Peter said. He fumbled with the padlock on the door. It slipped from his fingers on the first try. He stopped, closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath, thinking back to a few days ago when Doc Ock had burst into May’s living room: May calling her Liv and not wanting to explain why; May walking away from the whole ordeal no worse for the wear; May knowing how Liv’s healing was progressing. “Holy shit. They totally hooked up, didn’t they?”

Wade gave him a gleeful, overexaggerated grin, all the more manic-looking as the only exposed part of his face, and nodded his head slowly. “Definitely lovers in the nighttime,” Wade said, wiggling his tongue between his teeth obscenely. Peter quickly redirected his attention to the padlock. “May is rocking that GMILF vibe.”

“Oh Jesus.” Peter banged his head against the shed. “I’m begging you to stop.”

“You don’t have to beg, baby,” Wade said, with a little chuckle. He was still standing far too close. The warmth of his breath stirred Peter’s hair. “Didn’t mean to scandalise you. You didn’t exactly strike me as a prude.” 

Peter made a show of fidgeting with the lock and elbowed Wade hard in the process. “Not wanting to discuss my aunt’s sex life makes me a prude?”

“Who else’s sex life are we going to discuss?” Wade flopped against the side of the shed, looking thoughtful. “She ever mention losing her favourite pair of scissors?” He made Vs with the index and middle finger of both hands a fitted them together.

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Any visits from the good doctor to comfort her in times of need?”

Peter finally got the door open, and they stepped together into the dark. “We’re not discussing this any further. Not bringing it up. Not even thinking about it.”

“You may not be, but I have a rich imagination, Spidey, and you can’t stop me.” 

*

“Couldn’t we rent a helicopter or something? Aren’t you, like, a billionaire in your dimension?” Wade grumbled, as they stood in line to board the bus. “A lot of you end up doing the whole Tony Stark thing. Biochem research company and all that jazz.”

“Haha, no. We’re nowhere near ready to go public. Instead of reinvesting, I decided to diversify. Besides,” Peter gestured dramatically at his suit up and down, “I wasn’t exactly carrying a wallet when I got pulled through the swirling portal on my ceiling.” 

“Well, let this be a reminder for you for next time you’re sucked into an alternate dimension.” Wade gestured to his own pockets and pouches with a flourish. “At least I learned something in Boy Scouts, besides how to suck a dick.”

Peter wasn’t sure how to take a lot of what came out of Wade’s mouth, but he still couldn’t help staring at him in wide-eyed horror. The expression was shared by the woman taking their tickets as they climbed up the steps. Wade just shooed Peter down the aisle towards a couple of seats in the very back.

Peter hunkered down in the window seat, arms crossed, and gazed out at the desolate landscape of the bus depot. The winter sky was that indeterminate grey that could easily be 8 in the morning or 6 in the evening. It looked like it might open up with snow at any second.

Wade squirmed next to him. He couldn’t seem to stay put in one position for longer than a couple of minutes, and the strap of his thigh holster kept scraping against Peter with each movement. It only took a few minutes, just after they’d finally turned out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, when finally Peter shot him a pointed look. “You’re like a five year old on a sugar high, I swear to Christ.”

“I’m _bored,_ ” Wade whined. “What are we supposed to do to entertain ourselves?”

“Quiet reflection of all the shitty life choices we’ve made?”

“P’shaw, we’re gonna need a longer bus ride. A bigger boat. Some more holy water.” Wade shifted again, slinking low in his seat and bringing his knees up to tuck against the seatback in front of them. He leaned whisper close to Peter’s ear, “I’ve got a better idea.”

Peter’s first instinct was to shove him off, and he had to stifle it. When things had first turned bad with MJ, she’d insisted on him talking to someone. The SHIELD provided counselor had had plenty to say about two decades of too much violence and not enough meaningful, positive physical contact to counter its effects. But if he slowed down and took the time to think about it, Peter found he didn’t mind all the physical contact Wade foisted on him.

So instead, Peter decided to indulge him. “What’s your idea?”

Wade wriggled even closer, pushing Peter up against the window more firmly. “‘S pretty empty in here.”

Not a lot of people were heading out into the middle of nowhere upstate at 9 o’clock on a Monday, that was true. There were two older women near the front and a jittery looking businessman about six rows up from the back. “Okay, so?”

“Too bad we don’t have a 40 to split, we could do Never Have I Ever. Guess we’ll just have to settle for truth or dare. I’ll go first: ever given a bus job?”

Peter arched a brow over his shoulder at Wade in question, and Wade brought his fist to his closed lips and poked out his cheek with the tip of his tongue.

Was he fucking serious? The more time they spent together, the clearer it became that Wade’s mind certainly didn’t work like most other people’s. It was hard to say if he was joking or trying to get under Peter’s skin, but it seemed impossible that he actually expected Peter to answer.

“We’re not having this discussion.” He kept his voice even and firm, just to be clear. “And that’s not how truth or dare works. You have to ask me which, first.”

“Oh, so you’d prefer a dare?” Wade wiggled his brow suggestively.

“No.” Peter gave him a stern look, to get his point across, and turned quickly back to the view outside the window.

Beside him, Wade sunk even lower. His chin hooked over Peter’s shoulder, digging into the place between muscle and collarbone. “C’mon, you can dare me, if you wanna.” His voice was low and gravely, the aural equivalent of fingers scratching gently down Peter’s spine. He suppressed the urge to shiver.

“No dares.”

“I’m fine with truth.” Wade tapped a finger against his lip in thought. “Let’s go more basic: you ever _touched_ another guy’s dick, Petey?”

Peter shifted in the seat, elbowing Wade in the gut in the process, turning to put his back against the window and his knee between their bodies. Well, refusing to answer hadn’t worked, and ignoring him would probably only make him more obnoxious. Peter supposed he could always try to shock Wade with the truth. “Yes, in fact, I have.”

For a long, silent moment, Wade stared at him expectantly. Then he exclaimed, “You can’t just say things like that and then not give _details_. Spill. On me, if you’d like.”

Peter just shook his head. “It’s like a horny teenager and a toddler fused together in some Frakenstienian nightmare.” He hid his grin in his shoulder, lest Wade get the wrong idea. 

“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Wade teased.

Jesus, it was going to be a long ride. “Alright,” Peter said. “You want a truth?” Wade gave him an expectant look, hairless brows arched in questioning. 

Peter couldn’t explain _why_ he was willing to be vulnerable around this man, but it didn’t change the fact. “You know the other night on the roof, when I said I didn’t know where things went wrong?”

Wade nodded and Peter sighed because now he’d opened this door, and he had to walk through. But putting it into words was even more difficult than he’d anticipated. MJ had been the only person he’d ever felt safe divulging all his secrets to, and somehow over time, it had grown more and more difficult to do so, which had been just one of many parts of the problem between them. Maybe that was where to start, then.

“When MJ and I first got together, it was like, how lucky could I be? Here’s this amazingly talented, funny, smart person, and they want _me?_ All of me -- Spidey too. We really got each other, and we supported each other’s goals, and it was truly perfect, like in a way that you feel sorry for everyone else around you because you know they don’t have what you do.”

“And then…” Peter paused. Even now, years after the fact, he still remembered how it had felt before, and the exact sensation of realising things had changed. They’d sailed so effortlessly through the early years of their marriage, and it was like running out of web fluid midway through a vault and going into freefall. 

“You know, there was this point, where she started holding us up to the standard of all our friends. They’d all started settling down, when was that going to happen for us?” Peter laughed ruefully. “And here my dumb ass thought she just meant getting married. But then she started expecting me to come home instead of going on patrol and talking about how could we expect to have kids if I was going to be risking my life out there, and shit, I hadn’t even considered kids.”

“I wanted kids,” Wade said abruptly. “Thought I’d found the one to have ‘em with, too. Oh, sorry. Truth.”

Peter hoped the look he was giving was encouraging and didn’t betray just how uncomfortable he was, in general, with this sort of personal discussion. “What happened?”

“She’d fallen in love with Wade, and then somehow, miraculously, she fell in love with Deadpool. She died, but then I brought her back. Then I lost her.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but he had to know Peter would see right through that. “She still loved me after Weapon X got done with me, but when they got done with her?” 

“What was that you said, about Spider-Man feeling like a duty?”

Peter thought back on their conversation, only just last night, though it felt as if so much more time than that had passed. “It was an obligation?” Peter suggested.

“That’s it, an obligation. I knew I should love her. She deserved it, but she wasn’t my ‘Nessa anymore, and we couldn’t keep pretending. Point is, you can’t make something you love into an obligation. You just end up resentful.”

“Oddly wise of you, ‘Pool,” Peter teased gently, testing.

Wade grinned back. “I try to keep it on the DL. It’s kinda off-brand.”

Peter turned back to observe the scenery blurring past. “I think I do want kids.” The words were unplanned, but Peter knew them to be true the moment he spoke them. Probably always had, if he was being honest with himself, but shoved it aside, thinking it incompatible with his lifestyle.

Wade smacked him hard on the thigh. “Well, there you go. We just get you patched up and sent home, and you can go get ‘er, tiger.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathed out with a little laugh. “Just like that.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Ugh, can’t the bad guys ever get a little creative with their architecture?” Wade groaned, as Alchemex came into view between the trees. The campus was in a scenic enough setting, with the foothills of the Adirondacks as a backdrop, but the buildings were just plopped down gracelessly, all nondescript white walls and mirrored windows.

“You know how there’s always one building, no matter what city you go to, that looks absolutely the same?” Wade asked Peter. “Just walls and windows, and there’s no sign, and you never see anyone go in or out? Well, I’ve got this theory that’s the gateway to purgatory, right, because no one’s gonna wander in there by accident to see all those lost souls just milling about, filing meaningless paperwork for all of eternity.”

Peter’s nose wrinkled in the most adorable way. “Sounds more like hell, if you ask me.”

“Oh-ho.” Wade flicked a finger over the tip of that very nose. Peter batted at his hand absently. “If that’s what you think of hell, you’re either more naive than I thought or sadly lacking in imagination.”

“Sorry, yeah, I keep forgetting I’m already there.”

“My point exactly!” Wade made a sweeping gesture towards Alchemex to put Vannah White to shame. “Purgatory.”

“And if you think it’s just a bunch of mild-mannered scientists in there, filing meaningless paperwork, then you’re just as naive.”

Wade stuck out his tongue but don’t think he missed the way Peter’s eyes flicked down at it briefly.

[[If there was any question of his insanity, the fact that he’d even entertain any interest in you should cement it.]]

“So, do you have a plan or are we just winging it? Just so you know, I’m always down to provide a distraction.” Wade patted his gun meaningfully.

Peter gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m honestly curious, do you think I’m just going to suddenly change my mind on the whole mass murder thing if you offer it often enough?”

“I know, I know,” Wade sighed. “Definition of insanity. I just want to make sure you’re aware of all options at your disposal.”

“Come on, I know a way in.”

Peter’s way in, it turned out, was another air duct on the roof. Wade eyed the drop suspiciously. “It’s a little weird how they just leave these things unlocked. I hate to come across all victim-blamey, but it’s like they’re asking for it.”

Peter hesitated, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “I mean, when you put it like that, it sounds a little suspicious.” He leaned over to examine the shaft.

[Aahahahahahah, have we finally gotten to that part of the story? Let’s earn an explicit rating!]

[[No self-respecting author would refer to a cock as ‘the shaft.’]]

Wade figured there was a time and place for its use, just as there was for this conversation, which he now chose to ignore.

“For a bunch of super villains, I feel like they’re missing a prime opportunity for some classic super villain props. Where are the saw blades? The alternating slamming chompers? Trap doors into lava pits?”

“Please don’t give them any ideas,” Peter said, dragging a hand over his masked face. With that, he jumped down the chute feet first and somehow managed to land without making a sound.

“I can totally do that,” Wade muttered.

[Don’t kid yourself.]

[[Stealth is not our forte…]]

Just to prove a point, Wade carefully lowered himself down, wedged between the walls. It took significantly longer, and with the way his suit squeaked as it dragged along the slippery surface of the duct, it wasn’t exactly any stealthier than just diving in would have been, but it was the _principle_.

[[I think you spelled that wrong.]]

[Or he’s fooling himself.]

It was harder to read Peter’s face with the mask in the way, but Wade still got the impression he was being judged and found lacking. “Good of you to join me,” he hissed.

“Har fucking har. Jesus, this is roomier than the closet where I cried myself to sleep as a kid.” Between the slots in the grate, Wade could hear a couple of scientists discussing the likelihood of mice living in the air ducts.

[Oops.]

“See,” Peter whispered as he began to crawl away. “Nothing to worry about.”

[Can’t really argue with that view.]

Wade made a low sound of agreement. It was sort of hypnotising to watch Peter’s ass. Peter huffed a sigh. “Would you move? Or should we switch places so you can focus?”

“Oh, I’m focused,” Wade breathed. “But if you wanna see me shake my ass, all you gotta do is ask.”

They’d barely crawled six feet when there was a groaning sound. Peter glanced back over his shoulder, the eyes of his mask managing to come across as surprised. Wade had a moment to wonder if their combined weight was too much before the duct bent in half, right between the two of them, and Wade began to slide down.

[Whee!]

Wade tried to catch himself on the sides, but they were completely smooth and no amount of bracing against them slowed his movement. After a few seconds, it became clear he wasn’t going to be dumped out on the atrium floor. The duct took a sharp curve.

[[This is weirdly Addams Family-esque.]]

All he needed was being suctioned through a tank of water. Actually, that didn’t sound so bad.

“Naughty little spiders.” A female voice echoed through the narrow space. “Creeping around in my ceiling.”

Wade landed in a graceless sprawl in a dark, cold room. Something was definitely broken. “Aw, fuck,” he groaned, struggling to sit up. He got his hands under him only to realise those were part of what was broken. Actually, there wasn’t much left that was _un_ broken.

“Tough one, aren’t you?” the voice asked. “No matter. There are other ways to kill an unwanted pest.” There was a hissing sound from somewhere above him.

“Flattered, really, that you’d mistake me for Spidey,” Wade wheezed. 

[[To be fair, this ‘verse has a lot more reason than most to expect extra Spidey-People.]]

When Wade drew his next breath, he immediately began coughing. The next burned the entire way down, and after that, breathing at all got pretty dicey. Wade’s vision started sparking bright spots of white in the darkness, consciousness fading even as his bones began to knit back together.

[[Death by bug spray. That’s new.]]

*

Peter came to with a throbbing headache. One of those hangover ones that he would like to protest he shouldn’t even be able to have given his healing. How was it fair that he could barely get drunk, but he had to deal with the fallout? 

Groaning, he blinked his eyes open to take in a small, white room. In his groggy state of mind, it took a few seconds to process that one, this wasn’t a familiar room, and two, he was held to his chair by metal bands around his arms, waist, and legs. Peter gave them an experimental tug, but all he got for his efforts was a shooting pain in his head.

When he searched his memory, the last thing he recalled was sliding down the air duct, shooting out a web to catch himself, only the webbing never attached to anything. He twisted his wrist to examine the shooters but of course they were gone.

“Didn’t think I’d learn from last time, hmm?” 

Oh yeah, he remembered that voice, too, taunting him as he fell.

Peter gave a nod of his head. “Liv. Neat trick with the air duct.”

The chair spun around, and Doc Ock smiled down at him as she rose up, held aloft several feet off the ground by her harness. “Just a little chemical compound I perfected after your last visit. Word of advice, Peter: if you’re going to break and enter, in broad daylight no less, maybe don’t do it the exact. Same. Way. You did before. ”

“Ugh, Wade isn’t going to let me hear the end of this.”

“Was that your friend’s name?” Liv asked. “He _did_ seem like the chatty sort.”

Rolling his eyes made Peter’s skull feel like it was going to split open. “You have no idea. He’s never gonna shut up about it.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that.” At Peter’s querulous look, she steepled her fingers together in a vaguely cartoonish way and leaned in. “Oooh, sorry, Peter, I forgot to mention. He’s dead.”

There was an initial moment of panic, even as Peter reminded himself that Wade would heal. He forced himself to remain calm and clearly it wasn’t the reaction Liv wanted from him. “Don’t believe me?”

Doc Ock went to a screen on the wall. The tubes carried her, and at a bit of a distance, Peter observed the way her legs hung limp and unmoving, feet just above the ground. She brought up an image of a dark, smoke-filled room where Wade’s crumpled body lay broken and motionless. Peter swallowed hard, waiting as the seconds passed for his body to move, but it didn’t. After a few seconds, she switched off the image and turned back to him.

“I’m surprised to see you again, Peter,” Liv said. Every time she spoke his name, it was wielded like a weapon. A reminder of his lack of anonymity, which this world’s Peter had guarded as fiercely as Peter did his own at home. “After you and your friends left me for dead on your way back to your universe.”

Peter gave her a winning grin, fighting back against the anxiety for Wade. “To be fair, you were trying to kill us at the time.”

“A failure I’ll remedy shortly, don’t worry.” One of the tentacles shot out to grab a chair and drag it closer, and the others lowered Doc Ock gently onto it. “But first, I have to know what’s brought you back here.”

“Oh, you know.” Peter shrugged, as much as the restraints would allow him. “After experiencing the hospitality of this universe, my own felt so cold in comparison.”

“Hmm, I see.” Liv made a show of stroking her chin. “And here _I_ thought it was because the particle stream dumped you back here.”

Peter didn’t answer, just twisted uncomfortably in his seat. Well, at least Miles had been right that she would have some insight into the problem. She took his silence as assent. “That’s what I thought. I had plenty of downtime after our last run-in to think about what it was that brought the five of you, in particular. After all, there are an absurd number of your sort running around the Multiverse.”

“What can I say?” Peter chuckled. “Guess the Multiverse just loves its eight-legged freaks!”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Liv said, bland. “When this universe’s Spider-Man entered the stream, his particles essentially acted as a magnet to all the other Spider-People across all the other dimensions. And as the five of you were being dragged throughout the Multiverse, itty bitty little particles of you were scattered and swapped among all those other versions. For the others, jumping back in the stream put everything back in its proper place. But not you, Peter.”

“Are you exposition monologuing for any particular reason?” Peter wondered aloud. He craned his head to either side, looking for an audience. “I was there. I already know all of this.”

“But did you know _you_ were the closest match?”

“Seems unlikely,” Peter muttered. Maybe once upon a time, before he’d made one shitty choice after another and ended up drowning his feelings in food. Of course, this Peter had been so much younger. Maybe his own life had been on a similar trajectory, which was just too depressing to consider.

Liv bared her teeth in something approximating a smile, like she knew exactly where his thoughts had taken him. “Oh, it’s true. See, Wilson didn’t want just any version of his wife and son; they had to be the closest to his own. What’s more, if we were to snatch them away from their own dimension, what’s to stop that Fisk and Octavius from building their own accelerator to take them back?”

“So I came up with the rather ingenious idea of borrowing from several of the most compatible sources in order to recreate, so to speak, this dimension’s Vanessa and Richard. When our Peter ended up in the stream, something similar happened between the two of you. Which would explain your being unable to leave -- half of you belongs here.”

“Problem is, shortly after you swapped with him, our Peter went and got himself squished. Which is bad news for you--” Liv drew herself off the seat by her tentacles and leaned over Peter, close enough he could feel her breath on his face. “It means you’re half-dead already.”

“But don’t worry Peter!” she exclaimed, chipper, straightening back up. “After we run a few experiments on you, I’ll help you get the rest of the way there.”

*

“What am I supposed to do with this guy?”

“Doctor Octavius is interested in learning where he came from.”

The grip under Wade’s armpits shifted, hefting him higher. “Jesus Christ, he’s heavy.”

“Muscle weighs more than fat,” Wade said prosaically.

Two screams rang out in the room. Wade’s feet dropped back to the floor, then his upper half, and finally his head landed last with a resounding crack. He opened his eyes to see the two scientists shrinking back against the wall. 

A third sat with his feet propped up on a messy desk with a bagel in hand. “He’s supposed to be dead!”

“He _was_!” The one who’d been carrying his feet stared at Wade in wide-eyed horror. “He was in there with the gas for ten minutes. He had no pulse!”

The one who’d been carrying him under the pits started scooting towards a button the wall, but froze in her tracks when Wade drew his gun and levelled it at her. “You didn’t _disarm him_?” she wailed.

“He was _dead_ ,” Lamisil Dude protested.

Wade got to his feet, halfway up discovering that his ankle was still healing, and staggered into the metal gurney at his side. He kept his gun trained on them, trying to swallow past the dryness in his throat. “Okay, who came and/or died in my mouth while I was dead?” His voice came out rough and scratching. “Also, where the fuck is Spider-Man? You better hope for your own sake that he didn’t get gassed.”

The three of them looked at each other and back at him, all shrugging. “I think Doctor Octavius had something more personal planned for him,” Pit Lady said.

“Word is, the air ducts are rigged to lead to a secret lab in the basement, but no one knows where or how to get to it,” Bagel Guy explained.

[[This is getting too confusing. You need to give them names.]]

[Foot Dude is Hugo, and Pit Lady is Gertrude.]

[[Bagel Guy looks like a Theodore.]]

“What’s wrong with Bagel Guy?” Wade demanded. “It’s a perfectly cromulent epithet.”

The three scientists exchanged looks, and Bagel Guy’s free hand slid across his lap towards his desk drawer. “Ah-ah-ah!” Wade shook his gun. “Knock it off, Theodore.”

“Ugh, it’s _Theo_ ,” Bagel Guy protested. “Only my mom calls me Theodore.”

[[Wait, we were actually right??]]

“Get your fucking hand away from the drawer, Teddy!” Wade exhaled sharply through his nose. “You chuckle heads should be real fucking grateful that Spidey has put a moratorium on killing.” He strode over to the desk, where Bagel Guy pushed his rolling chair back and lifted both hands in the air. Sure enough, there was some fancy laser weapon in the centre drawer, which Wade tucked in his holster.

“Now, I’m going to have to incapacitate you three, but it’s up to you whether that means cold-cocking your asses, or just practicing my shibari technique.”

“Your tie-dying technique?” Gertrude asked.

“That’s _shibori_ ,” Bagel Guy corrected. “Shibari means ‘long time no see.’”

“That doesn’t sound right.” Gertrude’s brow wrinkled. “I’m pretty sure that’s--”

Wade pinched the bridge of his nose. “It means I’m going to bitchslap the fuck out of you just to shut you up, oh my god.”

There was a second of silence, then Hugo lifted a meek hand and said, “I’d prefer the tie-dye thing, if it’s all the same to you.”

[[Why can’t we kill them, again? Spidey would _never know_.]]

“You have an excellent point,” Wade said. But then again, _he_ would know, and even if the guilt couldn’t literally kill him, he’d still see their stupid science nerdy faces with bullets in the forehead whenever he looked at Peter’s stupidly hot science nerd face. He heaved a sigh.

[Morality is dumb, and you shouldn’t buy into it.]

“You guys are the worst conscience. I take back all the shit I’ve said about that frog guy from Pinnochio.” Met with three blank stares, Wade snapped his fingers. “Jiminy Cricket.”

“He was a cricket!” Bagel Guy cried.

“Um, I’m sorry,” Wade said. “What kind of fucking green, wingless, antenna-less abominations have you been mistaking for _crickets_?”

“It’s in his fucking name!”

“You know what?” Wade waved his gun in Theodore’s direction. “Eat your fucking bagel already and shut up!”

Turned out, a morgue had the perfect built in storage for keeping the three out of his way. The body storage drawers were equipped with special locks that couldn’t be opened from the inside. Given the sort of experimentation being done by other evil corporations, Wade wouldn’t be at all surprised if some of the bodies here tended to come back to life.

[[This is the way the world ends, you know.]]

[Less of a whimper or a bang, more evil scientists engineering the zombie apocalypse.]

“Sounds legit.”

Bagel Guy’s computer was super easy to hack with the little usb drive Wade’d stolen the last time he’d visited Colossus at the X Mansion. He just popped it in and let it do all the work, and then clicked through the network to the Doc’s computer, where there was a list of ominous-sounding documents that spelled out all their experimentation with the collider and the various experiments undertaken before Peter and gang had ever been dragged through.

After clicking through several folders, and finally listening to White’s suggestion about searching for keywords, he found a reference to the Spider-Man from this world, and how he’d died shortly after his immersion in the stream. Doc Ock bemoaned the lost opportunity to study him. But then, only a few entries later, she was discussing the appearance of the new Peter, and what he represented. 

There was a long, meandering explanation of what had happened to Peter’s body during its trip through the Multiverse, and then Ock posited a solution. If Peter were to take a small enough amount of particles from the various other Spidey-People across the Multiverse to replace the dead ones, their healing factors would recover from the loss.

In another folder, he found plans for the air duct system. It didn’t exactly spell out the location of the secret lab, but Wade was good at his job. Even before he’d been _blessed_ with his current condition, he’d been at the top of his field. Whether taking out foreign hostiles in their desert hidey-holes or hunting down drug traffickers at their hidden compounds, Wade had always succeeded.

The problem then became how to sneak around a bustling building in the middle of the day without drawing attention to himself. He snagged an extra pair of scrubs and a lab coat from a closet outside the morgue and threw them on over his uniform. Then he took off his own mask and slapped a surgical mask on over it, only that somehow looked even more conspicuous. He rummaged around in Bagel Guy’s desk until he found a bouffant cap to top off the look, and then he was off.

Though he garnered more than a few strange looks, no one stopped him right off the bat. Maybe Deadpool just didn’t give off that superhero vibe. The place was set up like a labyrinth -- he couldn’t even tell if he was above or below ground, with winding hallways separating him from the outer walls. 

Eventually he found an elevator shaft to pry open, and he lowered himself down. At the bottom was a panel that, when opened, revealed a mess of wires and buttons.

[Cut the red one! It’s always the red one!]

[[It’s never the red one. The red one blows us up.]]

“Well, that’s always a blast, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch.” With a little prodding and poking, and the snipping and rewiring of a few controls, the floor below him slid open to reveal an extension of the elevator shaft. He dropped down and went through the doors to find himself in a long, sterile-looking hallway with blinding white walls.

There were muffled voices down the hall, and while Wade couldn’t make them out, he’d recognise that sarcastic drawl anywhere. “That’s our boy,” Wade murmured. Sassy and salty even when tied up at the mercy of his arch-nemesis.

Discarding the scrubs and lab coat as he went, Wade made his way down, light on the balls of his feet. Through a window on the door, he could see Spidey strapped to a chair with metal bands. They didn’t look like they’d be much of a match for his strength, but given the My First Mad Scientist Chemistry Set Doc Ock had going on in the room, chances were high she’d dosed him with something.

Wade drew both katana and stepped into the room. “See, what did I tell you about breaking in during the middle of the day?”

Doc Ock spun around dramatically, her legs and hair swinging wildly with the movement. When her eyes fell on him, they narrowed. “Well, well. Maybe you’re worth a closer look. But you need to wait your turn!” She lunged for him, two tubes shooting out -- one closing around his torso, pinning his arms to his side, and one around his legs, knocking him to the ground.

“While we’re on the topic of poor choices,” Peter said dryly, “let’s discuss your rescue methods.”

Wade strained against the hold, which was surprisingly strong for an inflated tube. “Wow, these things are pretty flexible. I think I’ve seen this hentai.” He managed to twist his wrist and flick upward, bringing one katana through the tube binding his arms. “I mean, I’m not NOT down for it, but can we establish a safeword, first? Mine is ‘Lucretia Mott.’ Holy shit, did you two coordinate that synchronous eye roll just for me?” 

“I’m curious, Peter, which universe did you dig this one up from.” Doc Ock’s eyes glittered in a sort of mad way. Just as Wade got his feet free, another two arms twisted the katana from his grip and pinned his wrists to the wall, and a third tightened around his throat. 

Doc Ock drew closer to Wade on her remaining three tentacles, examining him with a tilted head. “Is there another Peter under there?” She reached out with her hand to tug Wade’s mask off. Wade took advantage of her momentary shock to bring his legs up around her waist, locking them behind her back, and pulled down with all his weight. 

They went flying through the air together, and her tentacles released him to catch herself before she fell. It gave Wade a second to scramble to Peter’s side and jam a katana into the locking mechanism around his arms. He was going for the legs when a tentacle caught him around the waist and flung him across the room.

Two tentacles grabbed him by the ankles, and then everything went a little sideways as Doc Ock swung him around in a very rag doll manner. “Please stop the ride!” Wade called out. “I’d like to get off.”

In the blur of colour flying by, Wade caught a glimpse of Peter tugging with both hands at the band around his waist. “A little help, Spidey?”

The swinging stopped, with Wade hanging by his ankles several feet off the ground. “Oh, did I forget to mention?” Liv said. Her wide-eyed look was made comical by the magnifying effect of her goggles. “While I was playing with chemistry, I came up with another little concoction to level the playing field a bit.”

There was a control panel on the side of the chair. Seemed that destroying it had an equal chance of releasing the locks as not. He unholstered his gun and fired off a shot before Ock smacked it out of his hand. “That’s an impressive arsenal you’ve got there.”

“Oh, thanks,” Wade gushed. He fumbled around with his pouch for something that wouldn’t catch Spidey in the blast. The Taco Bell hot sauce might have worked if not for the goggles. His fingers closed around a flash grenade. “You should check this little beauty out.”

Peter ducked, head tucked between his arms, as the room exploded in light. The tentacles went lax and dropped Wade to the floor. He rolled up to his feet to see the tentacles flaily blindly. Peter, perched up on the seat of his chair, jumped to dodge one and brought down both hands to smack away a second. Without his strength, he had to put his whole body behind it. A second tentacle caught him in the feet, sending him flipping backward, but he managed to land neatly. Looked like whatever he’d been dosed with hadn’t taken away all his skills.

Wade sidled over to him, back to the wall just out of range of the tentacles. “You with me, Spidey?” 

“What?” Peter shouted, squinting at him. “I need my web shooters.”

Wade gave him a big thumbs up. “You got it, baby boy.”

[[I’m not sure that moniker works anymore…]]

[Good thing he can’t hear you.]

“Whatever, I stand by it.” Just look at that baby face! A tentacle shot between them and swiped toward Wade. He dodged backward, bending nearly in half. “All those pilates classes are finally paying off!” 

With a little leap, he grabbed onto the tentacle with arms and legs, intending to pull Doc Ock off balance. Instead, she yanked the tentacle backward, flipping him over her head and hard against the far wall. Of course, that put him right by the tray where Peter’s mask and web shooters were. He managed to snatch them as the tentacle swung him back the way he’d come, and he managed to toss them in Peter’s general direction. On the next sweep over her head, Wade reached out to tangle his fingers in the ropes of Liv’s hair.

Peter took advantage of the moment to shoot webbing at her face. “Let’s stop spinning our wheels.” 

Wade jerked hard on the handful of her hair, and Ock cried out in pain and stumbled on her remaining two tentacles. The weight of her body dragged her down, and Peter shot another volley of webs to tangle between limb and tentacle.

Two tentacles came up to block, using the webbing as leverage to tug Peter closer while a third went for his throat. “What does it take to stop you talking?” Liv screamed.

[[Don’t make a dirty joke, don’t make a dirty joke.]]

“You ask too much of me,” Wade muttered. 

The tentacles holding Wade dropped him to tug at the webs, but Peter just kept shooting them, even as his face turned an alarming shade of purple. Wade scrambled for his katana while Peter kept her off-balance and distracted. At this point, Doc Ock was on the ground, in a jumbled mess of webbing. 

Wade swung a katana through the tentacle around Peter’s neck. He grabbed for it as it began to deflate and jerked it around Ock’s back. Even without full functionality, it was powerful, tugging against his hold. At the base of the harness, he gave a tug at the gaskets and pulled the tentacles loose, one after the other.

[[I mean, I know she was trying to kill us, but is this allowed? It seems like a dick move to take away her only means of independent locomotion...]]

Wade glanced over at Peter, whose face was regaining some colour, though still bright red. “Who gives a fuck?” Wade was surprisingly winded from the fight. “You good, Spidey?” 

Peter took the hand Wade offered and pulled himself to his feet. He rubbed absently at his throat. “Thanks for the assist.” He looked down at his fist, which he kept flexing and relaxing, and frowned.

“IDK, powers or no, seems like you coulda handled it.” Peter gave him a dubious smile, and Wade handed over his mask. “Cover your face, man, do you even know how this secret identity thing works?”

“Do _you_?” Peter teased. 

Wade threw his hands in the air. “Apparently it doesn’t matter how free and loose I am with it, the people in my own universe don’t even know who the fuck I am.”

Peter tugged his mask back into place, and just like that his posture changed, a sort of ease fell over him. Even though everyone in this universe already knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man, it was too ingrained in him, the idea of them being two different people. 

Wade could relate to that.

“Also, good news!” Wade produced his thumb drive with a flourish. “Got all the good doctor’s notes on this baby.”

Doc Ock pulled herself up, resting back on the palms of her hands and glared at them. “You’re never going to make it out of here with that.”

“I know I move in different circles, but I’m a little hurt you don’t know me. On the other hand,” Wade crouched down in front of her to pick up his gun from where it had fallen and held it casually between his knees. Liv’s eyes tracked the movement. “It’s a whole lotta fucking fun showing you just how wrong you are.”

“Deadpool,” Peter said warningly. Oh, there was some recognition from Ock, _finally_. Her eyes flicked to the gun again with concern.

“What?” Wade whined. “I didn’t kill or maim anyone on my way down here.” He held up two crossed fingers. “Scouts Honour.”

Peter batted at his hand. “That’s not how it goes.”

“It was when Scoutmaster Kevin did it.” He sprung up to his feet, kicked idly at Ock’s leg, then immediately winced. “What’d’ya wanna do with her, then?”

“Can we just leave her down here?” Peter wondered. “If she’s the only one who knows about this place?”

“Eh, I’m sure she’s got some emergency call button down here somewhere. At least this gives us a head start.”

“The entire building knows you’re here,” Ock said. “Show your face upstairs, and they’ll chase you down.”

“Oooh, good idea!” Wade gushed. At Peter’s tilted head, he elaborated. “Showing your face. There are some scrubs in the hallway. I mean, I know your face is somewhat famous over here, but take you out of the suit and no one’s gonna look twice.”

[[That is a blatant lie.]]

“Okay, they’ll be too busy admiring your strong jawline and staring into your dreamy eyes to notice you’re Spidey.”

Liv made a sound of distaste from the floor. “Do you forget, I know exactly where you’re going from here?”

“Yeah, well,” Peter crossed his arms over his chest. He sounded mightily uncomfortable when he spoke next. “May was telling me how you’d mellowed out since the last time you crashed her place. I wonder how she’d feel if you were to do it again.”

A blush spread high over Liv’s cheeks, and she averted her gaze. Yellow and White made twin sounds of vindicated glee in Wade’s head. Though she said nothing more, it was clear any thought of following them had gone.

“Anyway,” Peter said as he made his way to the door. “It’s been a lot of fun, Liv. Hope I never see you again.”

*

Amazingly, Wade’s plan of getting them out worked like a charm. Okay, maybe it wasn’t fair of Peter to be so surprised by the fact--Wade was proving to be a solid ally. It was a shame he wasn’t around in Peter’s universe and thinking of why made Peter’s chest give a little pang.

By the time they’d made it back to the city, it seemed as though the effects of Liv’s drug cocktail had worn off, and Peter had been ravenous. They made another stop on Peter Parker’s Diners, Drive-Ins, and Defunct and Derelict Restaurants of Universe 616 (as named by Wade; Peter found it a little too long and unwieldy, and it didn’t make a great acronym). This time it was a pizza place on 8th, where he managed to finish an entire pie by himself in under fifteen minutes, while Wade watched on with an expression both horrified and impressed.

“What the fuck ever,” Peter mumbled around a mouthful. “Like you couldn’t do the same.”

“I could, and I have done the same,” Wade readily agreed. “But I’ve never pretended to have a single iota of self-respect.”

Peter almost responded with a _blow me_ , but only got as far as his lips pressed together to form the words, when he caught himself with the realisation that maybe Wade wasn’t the right person to say that to. He might take it as an invitation, or a challenge.

Back at May’s, Peter hooked up the thumb drive Wade produced and watched in amazement at the information that popped up. “Where do you get these wonderful toys?”

Wade was quiet long enough that Peter glanced over his shoulder in mild concern to find Wade staring at him. He gave himself a little shake and said, “Sorry, I don’t know how to respond to a Spidey that not only gets my dated references but makes his own.”

Peter chuckled and turned back to the screen, clicking his way through the folders. He froze when Wade came up close behind him but covered for it quickly, continuing on with his search as if unfazed. Wade hooked his chin on Peter’s shoulder, just as he had on the bus, and when he spoke, the low rumble of his voice vibrated through Peter’s skin. “And if you like these toys, just wait til you see the ones I keep in my bedside drawer.”

A throat clearing behind them made Peter jump and saved him from having to come up with a response. May stood by the elevator in her scrubs, fresh off work, with a knowing look on her face. “I’m assuming since I didn’t hear otherwise, everything went smoothly at Alchemax?”

“Don’t worry, your girlfriend walked away without a scratch.” Wade pulled a face and then followed that up with, “Poor choice of words, but you catch my drift.”

May gave him a lingering look, a promise of matronly disapproval and potential violence in her gaze. Peter was willing to put his money on May and her shoe over Wade and his entire artillery if it came to blows. Then May turned her attention to Peter. “And you found what you were looking for?”

Peter gestured at the mess of files on the screen behind him. “To call this disorganised would be a gross understatement, but between Ock’s notes here and her whole Evil Monologuing, I think I get the gist of it.”

“Ooh!” Wade exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Gotta love that trope. Was it a Gloved Fist of Doom moment, or Storyboarding of the Apocalypse type of thing?”

“More of a Just Between You and Me exposition drop, followed by a Prepare to Die.”

“It’s good to see you’re both taking this so seriously,” May said, dry as kindling.

Peter brought up a diagram of the cellular damage caused by the particle accelerator. “From what I can see, I think I could keep synthesising the serum to repair the damage.”

“Uh, hold up.” Wade held up his hands. “Granted that most of my understanding of such things comes from 9th grade science, and I was probably a little too distracted by how low cut Mrs. Barnes’ blouses were, but from what I heard _Gwen_ say, that’s going to have diminishing returns.”

“Sure,” he granted. “But it will be years before I see any serious side-effects.” He shrugged. “I can work on something more permanent in the meantime.”

May laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, though she withdrew it after far too brief a time. Peter knew it was just in his head, but the skin felt colder without her touch, and he resisted the urge to place his own hand there, as if he could cling to the sensation just a while longer before returning to a world where she was already gone.

“You’ll figure something out,” she told him.

Peter nodded. “And as much as I’d like to hang around, I should be getting home. The serum will allow me to stay there without the glitching, or you know, the blinding, gut-wrenching pain.”

“Well, you better not leave without saying goodbye to Miles.”

Peter dragged a hand over his face. He’d been feeling better the past couple of days, all things considered, but it was like a heavy weight had fallen back over him. “Don’t tell the kid, okay? About the whole serum and side-effects dealio. He has enough on his plate without worrying about _me_.”

May arched a brow, but gave him a grudging nod. “One of these days, you might realise he doesn’t need you to protect him.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need me to protect him, okay, but _I_ need to protect him.” Of course Miles didn’t need Peter. Despite what he’d said when they’d first met, Miles had never needed Peter to figure out his path to becoming Spider-Man. But meeting Miles and getting to know him had meant so much to Peter.

After May had gone upstairs to call Miles, silence fell over the room. It was strange for Wade, Peter knew that much, even after only a couple of days. It made him uneasy. Peter paused in his perusal of Ock’s files to toss a glance at Wade, who was just watching him with crossed arms and his inscrutable mask. Peter looked back at the screen, then towards him again. “What?”

Wade waited to answer, long enough that Peter was ready to snap. Then he uncrossed his arms and came closer, to lean against the desk beside Peter. “Again, absolute layman here, but it would seem like there’s an obvious solution to your problem.”

“I’m dying to hear it,” Peter muttered.

“You just take what you need from Gwen and the kid. And the others, if Gwen can track ‘em down.”

So Wade read the file, great. Peter forced his shoulders to relax from where they’d climbed up near his ears. “I’m not going to ask that of them.”

“Why not?” Wade exclaimed. “It would fix you, and it wouldn’t hurt them. Their own healing factors would take care of it.”

“Look, we don’t know if that’s true. It’s just Octavius’ theory.” For all they knew, she put that in there hoping Peter would do it with disastrous results. Peter didn’t speak the thought aloud; it was probably verging on the conspiracy theory fringe of paranoid. And besides, he didn’t really believe that.

But he still couldn’t ask it of the others. In a way, it made sense that part of him had died with the other Peter, and that a part of that Peter lived on inside him. How could he just replace that?

Wade’s voice came out strangely vulnerable when he spoke. “It can’t hurt to try.”

“It’s not up for negotiation,” Peter said. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but at this point, the best thing is for me to go home and figure out the rest of this myself. Back where I belong.”


	5. Chapter 5

Wade had stormed off after Peter refused to discuss the situation any further. Normally, he would have just fucked off at this point. It was clear that Peter didn’t value his input, and Wade wasn’t one to stick around when he wasn’t wanted.

[[I believe there is significant proof otherwise.]]

“Annoying Cable and Wolverine is different,” Wade muttered. That was entertainment. This was... he didn’t know what it was, a sense of duty towards the Peter in this universe whom he hadn’t been around to help, or just the general magnetism he felt towards any Peter he crossed, regardless of universe. But even if Peter were to tell him to fuck off, in as many words, they both knew Wade wasn’t going anywhere until Peter was safely back home.

Miles had come over straight from school, and he was in the Spider Cave with Peter and May, exchanging goodbyes. Maybe it wasn’t their intent, but his exclusion just served to drive home the fact that no matter what had happened in the past few days, Wade was still an outsider.

“Hey, uh,” Peter spoke up from behind him. Wade turned to see him and the others emerging from the shed. 

With a guiding arm around his shoulder, May led Miles towards the house, asking if he’d like a cup of tea before he left, and then they were alone in the backyard.

“I hate to ask anything else of you, after all you’ve done--”

“Aw, c’mon, Spidey,” Wade said, annoyed with himself how soft it came out. “You have to know by now I’d do anything you ask of me.”

Peter looked down at his hands, which he was twisting together in front of him. “How about a ride home?”

“You think the new tenant can handle another visitation?” Wade asked.

“Ha! Um.” Peter squinted at him, chuckling. Fuck, what had Wade been thinking, getting involved with this whole mess? How the hell was he supposed to just go back to normal in a universe where Peter was dead? “Maybe we could aim for the roof this time? Less chance of an audience.”

“Any more restaurants on your Bucket List before we go?” Even if he knew he should just treat it like any other wound and rip the bandaid off fast, Wade couldn’t help but try to draw out Peter’s stay just a little while longer.

Peter gave him a smile tinged in melancholy. “Maybe next time.”

*

There was something about the air here, in the universe Wade’s device proclaimed to be 616, that just _tasted_ different. Peter drew in a deep breath and held it for several seconds before releasing it with a pleased sigh, arms spread wide, like he could just hug thin air. Peter knew he had spent less than two weeks in Miles’ universe, but it honestly felt like the full two years that had passed for everyone else. “Fuck, I could sleep for a _month_!”

“Where are you gonna go?” Wade asked.

Peter shrugged. “With my luck, they’ve probably declared me dead by now--good news is, I guess I don’t have to worry about my debt any more!” One plus side of his divorce from MJ and May’s death meant at least his debt hadn’t fallen on them, like all the other shit in his life.

Wade rustled around in his pouches and produced a wad of crumpled bills, which he held out to Peter. How did his pockets even hold all of the shit they did? “This might get you a shitty room for a few weeks, if you aren’t too worried about finding dead bodies shoved between the mattress.”

“Thanks for that mental image,” Peter said, with a snort. When he didn’t take the money, Wade stepped closer and put it directly in his hand, though he didn’t withdraw his own immediately. “You don’t have to--”

“And you don’t have to be so fucking self-sacrificing, just take the money, Spidey, Jesus. I’ve got whole swimming pools worth of it. Literally, I’ve even tried the Scrooge McDuck thing, except with cash instead of gold coins, and believe me when I tell you that way lays only papercuts in strange places.”

Peter closed his fingers around the bills, brushing Wade’s gloved hand in the process, and there was no reason in the world for Peter’s heart to beat a little faster, no fucking explanation for the way his cheeks heated. No sane reason, anyway.

“Th--”

“You’re being stupid,” Wade said. “Yeesh, this is surreal--usually it’s you yelling at me about being self-destructive, not the other way around, so how ‘bout we do switchsies?”

Just like that, Peter’s hackles were raised, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “It’s not being self-destructive to not want to put the _others_ at risk.”

“It’s a risk they’d all be willing to take, but you won’t even give them the option. Just go ahead and climb up on your cross like you always do.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Just because you’ve met other versions of me doesn’t mean you know _me_.”

Wade did that unnerving staring thing with the whites of his mask fixed on Peter’s eyes. Peter missed the blue of his eyes, which was a startling realisation. He averted his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can figure out some way to deal with it myself, now that I’m back,” he muttered to the ground.

“Yeah, okay. But back there, you’ve got a lot of people in your corner. People willing to help.”

“This is my _home_.” The word came out strange, weak even to Peter’s ears, like he wasn’t even sure of the meaning of it. “I have--” he was almost about to say _people_ when he realised that wasn’t exactly true. “Obligations.”

“Obligations,” Wade echoed, like it was something funny. “Okay, Spidey. I’ll let you get back to your _obligations_.”

Wade turned, like he was going to leave, and Peter reached out to stop him with a hand on his arm. “Wade, would you let me--I want to--let me thank you, goddamnit!” Peter tugged hard to turn Wade back to face him, but Wade didn’t exactly put up much resistance. The force brought Wade stumbling into him, the two of them pressed chest to chest, and Wade’s inscrutable mask staring at him.

Peter brought up his hand and then dropped it quickly. Neither of them stepped back from one another. “Can you take off the mask? I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

“I think I’ve made it pretty fucking clear what I’m thinking,” Wade groused, even as he tugged off the mask.

This close, Peter could make out every detail of Wade’s scars: the way the skin puckered around his mouth, branching lines outward to the gnarled scars on the hollow of his cheek; there were whorls of red and dark purple that stretched over his chin and down his neck, those looked fresher and painful. It was definitely an unfamiliar impulse to want to reach out and trace his fingers along them.

Peter lifted his gaze to Wade’s, swallowing hard at the way Wade watched him--knowing and longing and, most out of place on him, somber.

“I didn’t ask you to get involved in this in the first place.” Peter meant it defensively. He had no answer for why his voice came out so soft.

“Yeah, well.” Wade shrugged. He gestured around them with his arms spread out wide. “Yet here I am.”

Without really taking the time to weigh whether he should or not, Peter brought up a hand to Wade’s cheek, at the same time Wade’s hands fell on his hips. The air around them was all of a sudden thinner; Peter couldn’t draw a lungful. He pushed up on his toes while Wade tilted his face downward, and their lips met in between.

Wade’s frustration was clear in the way his mouth moved over Peter’s, the damp of his lips catching and sticking against the dry of Peter’s. His hands bunched up the fabric of Peter’s sweats, like they wanted to be grabbing handfuls of his flesh instead, and, Peter realised with a sharp intake of breath, _he_ wanted that, too. Wade took advantage of the parting of Peter’s mouth and deepened the kiss even as he stepped into Peter.

Peter’s hands flailed out to grasp Wade by the shoulders to keep his balance. He kissed back with a fervor he hadn’t recognised until now. It had been over a decade since he’d kissed anyone other than MJ, and there were all these differences that he hadn’t known he was missing. The rawness of Wade’s hunger written out in the slick brush of his tongue along the roof of Peter’s mouth, the snag of his teeth in Peter’s bottom lip, and the way he suckled on it, after, like he was trying to soothe little hurts but too desperate to stop himself from making them in the first place.

Why he’d kissed Wade to begin with, Peter wasn’t sure he could explain, except that it seemed like where the moment was leading - maybe as an apology, or a thank you, or a goodbye, or all three. But now, it was something completely out of his control. There was a tugging sensation in his chest, not entirely unlike the feeling of being ripped away from his universe, dragging him towards Wade -- a gravitational pull that was impossible to resist.

Somehow, they’d moved, and Peter didn’t even register it until his back was up against the door leading into the building. It was jarring enough to make him end the kiss. He opened his eyes to find Wade already watching. Peter could feel his gaze tracing over his no doubt flushed cheeks and his mouth which throbbed with the memory of the pressure of Wade’s kiss. 

Wade’s own chin was dotted in bright red pin-pricks of a rash beginning to form from Peter’s scruff, and the sight of it just made Peter want to lick it. It was such a startlingly new desire, it brought him up short. “I--” He stopped when he realised he had no idea what he wanted to say. There were too many thoughts, and none of them he could put into coherent words.

Something changed in Wade’s features, like a shutter falling over his eyes, and he took a step back. Peter frowned, tightening his hold as his grip shifted from Wade’s shoulder down his arm, until there was enough space between him that he was only left holding his hand. “Wade. I can’t--”

“I know, Spidey.” Wade leaned over to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Good luck with the whole martyr thing. You know where everyone is, if you change your mind.” He stepped back that last little distance, their hands falling apart.

Peter sighed. “Wade, come on, it’s not like that--”

But Wade didn’t wait around to hear anymore. He pressed the button on his little device, and with a brief, white flashing of light, Peter was alone on the rooftop.

*

The apartment was empty. The kid’s stuff was gone, except for the kitchen table and the couch, when Peter peered through the grimey window from the fire escape.

“That was fast,” Peter muttered. Then he found the letter taped to the outside of the door, from the landlord the previous tenant, telling him that claiming an apartment was haunted was not a valid excuse for breaking a lease, and that he still owed two more months payment.

On the streets, it didn’t _seem_ like two years had passed. Queens had the same feel as ever, the same traffic, the same smell of grease and cooking meat from the street vendors, the same shops. There were even familiar faces, though none of them gave him a second glance. His monthly metro card in his wallet was long expired, as was his credit card, but surprisingly his bank card still worked.

The library had been his go-to place of refuge for as long as he could remember. The place he’d loved most as a child. Countless hours spent roaming the nooks and crannies while his parents researched. Then returning after they’d disappeared, trying to recapture that feeling. 

His own studies had brought him back as a teenager, and once he’d been bitten, it had been a second home as he perfected his web fluid, and then, as he decided to go for a triple major in college. Even with the big library at school, he’d found himself spending the majority of his time in this one. Stepping into the building honestly felt more like coming home than anything else had so far. 

Peter found a computer station out of the way and logged in with his trusty account, unchanged since his very first visit over thirty years ago and he dove into everything that had transpired since he’d left.

There’d been a fair amount of noise over his disappearance. Sure, no one reporting on it had connected Peter Parker’s disappearance with Spider-Man’s, but the fact that there’d been no trace left behind had sparked the interest of the public. Caught on camera entering his apartment building, then never seen again. The internet was rife with theories, from alien abduction, to serial killer, all the way through to running away to avoid the crushing debt of his bad investments and a company that wasn’t anywhere near turning a profit.

Spider-Man, on the other hand--oh, all sorts of bad guys had stepped in to claim responsibility for that, but none of them could prove it. In the end, SHIELD had released a brief, cryptic statement, announcing that Spider-Man was working undercover for them on a long-term project, but that there were many other heroes looking over New York in his absence.

Hacking into SHIELD was as depressingly easy as ever. Their ideas about what had happened were as outlandish as the publics, though Stark and Strange had both brought up the fluctuations in the fabric of spacetime around the time of his disappearance. Strange had even poked around the multiverse. In the end, they leaned towards a more sinister cause, but regardless of their findings, no one had made any effort to have Peter Parker declared dead.

Small mercies, or whatever.

It was close to closing by the time Peter was finished. He was exhausted and hungry, and honestly wanted nothing more than to crawl back across the multiverse to May’s, have dinner with her and Miles and Wade, and then sleep for a decade or so.

The realisation was startling, bringing Peter up short. He almost tripped over his own feet and went crashing down the stairs to the sidewalk below. But after so many months angsting over the crumbling of his marriage, desperate to prove to MJ that he could be the man she needed, it was surreal to long not for her, but for these people who’d really only been in his life such a very brief time.

“What the hell, Peter?” he mumbled to himself. MJ had been the driving force in his life for so long--in some ways, even more so than Spider-Man. Even just a few days ago, he’d thought that maybe, maybe he could finally fix things. Maybe he’d finally figured out his priorities.

And maybe, if he’d come home two days later instead of two years later, he _would_ have fixed things with MJ. How had so much changed?

The past few days had reminded him how much fun being Spider-Man could be. How easily the joking came to him, how exhilarating it felt to come out of a fight on top and not have that tempered by the everyday, mundane expectations in his life.

Fuck, that wasn’t fair to MJ. What she wanted from him wasn’t mundane. It just wasn’t what _Peter_ wanted. Yeah, kids were on the table now. But when he had them, he wasn’t looking to live the way their friends did, the way MJ had envisioned. Every hour of every day booked with activities and meetings and scheduled date nights, with no spontaneity, no flexibility, and definitely no room for the unpredictability of superheroics. 

Turned out both Peter and Spider-Man wanted the same things out of life. He didn’t have to be at war with himself.

At a loss for what else to do with himself, Peter found himself wandering through the streets of Queens, like a solution to all of his problems would just jump out at him. May’s house looked untouched, when his feet inevitably carried him to the door. 

Before he’d disappeared, he’d been trying to decide what to do with the property. It would have made more sense to sell it, which would take a huge chunk out of what he owed. But the thought of selling the home Ben and May had poured so much time and money into, where so many memories had been unbearable. He’d considered renting it out, but had never gotten around to it.

In his searches at the library, as far as Peter could tell without contacting the bank directly, the house was still in his name, somehow. Now, standing before it, it didn’t appear anyone was living in it, but neither did it look uncared for or rundown, as any house left vacant for any length of time in the city tended to.

Peter was able to get in through the back door with the house key hidden in the birdhouse, and found it just how he remembered, with no sign of occupancy. The lights came on when he flipped the switch, and the tap produced water. But there was no food in the fridge and the shelves were bare. Upstairs the closets were untouched, still full of his old high school clothes, and May’s, which he still didn’t have the strength to think about packing up. 

It was definitely strange, but it would give him a place to lay low until he was ready to show his face again to the world. Between that, and the fact that his bank account apparently still had money, he could begin to gather what he’d need for research. When he’d signed into the bank site at the library, the balance had been depressingly low, but considering he’d have expected his creditors to have demanded all his assets, he couldn’t exactly complain.

Entering the shed out back was a bit of a mind-fuck, after having spent so much time recently at the other Peter’s. This one was decidedly less tech forward. No fancy elevator or glowing cases full of suits. There was an old wardrobe of Uncle Ben’s in the corner with his spare suits, most of them in need of repair. Instead of the giant screen and bank of computers, there was a now likely derelict laptop on a desk crowded with notes and half finished experiments. He’d been working on his web shooters the last time he’d been here, and now everything was covered in a thick layer of dust.

Peter ordered some takeout and set himself to the task of cleaning the place up and putting things into order. He had some of the leftover serum from Miles’ universe, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to get his hands on some from this universe, too. Who knew, maybe that would be the key. After all, if part of the problem was the fact that his cells had been swapped with that universe’s Peter, and he’d used that universe’s serum, it was no wonder they wouldn’t work exactly as expected with his own original particles.

After scarfing down his food, and finally getting the laptop to boot up after a painfully long time, he placed an order for some of the things he’d need--tubing and Percoll, and imidazole. He spent the vast majority of what he had on an ultrafiltration system. Thankfully, aside from the dust, his old centrifuge was still functional.

Sometime later he ended up passed out on the futon rather than making it inside to a bed, busy researching and coming up with a plan for getting ahold of Connor’s serum. Peter woke up groggy in the predawn, aware of his Spidey Sense telling him something was up. He didn’t have time to process it before someone kicked the futon frame. He sat up fast, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and stopped short at the sight of Tony Stark standing above him.

“Welcome home.”

Peter wiped his hands over his face. “Stark. Long time no see, I guess.”

Stark made a turn of the room and then looked down at Peter with an arched brow. “Impressive laboratory, Parker. I can see why you keep turning down my job offers.”

“How did you know I was here?” Peter asked.

“Please.” Stark gave him a droll look. “Who do you think has been taking care of this place in your absence? Had to make sure no squatters were messing with your aunt’s doilies. Imagine my surprise when the sensors were tripped and the cameras showed your pretty mug traipsing around the place, like the past two years never happened.”

“It’s a...long story,” Peter said lamely. At Stark’s questioning look, he heaved a sigh. “Universe and time travel. Throw in a little cellular degradation for the hell of it.” He swept his hands down his body, but if he were honest, well, the cellular degradation wasn’t really to blame for his current appearance.

Stark eyed the desk chair and then leaned over to brush it off before taking a seat. “Strange is going to take that hard. He spent a long time searching for you.”

“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t beat himself up over it.” Peter shrugged. “Turns out the multiverse is really, insanely huge.”

Stark gave him an assessing look. Peter had always found it unnerving, being around someone just as smart as himself, who saw all the things no one else noticed. After a moment, Stark nodded, apparently having come to a decision. 

Peter cleared his throat. “Guess I have you to thank for handling my debt, too.”

“Whether we made it official or not, you were part of our team, and the Avengers take care of their own.”

But there were _reasons_ Peter had never officially become an Avenger, same as how he’d never accepted Tony’s offers to work at Stark Industries. Even now, he had to fight the immediate petulance at the idea of just accepting the help. He’d always been so hell-bent on proving that he could do it all himself. 

Where were the other heroes when his parents had been killed for their work with the X-Men? Where had they been when he could have really used a mentor? Maybe things would have turned out different with Uncle Ben and Norman Osborne, and so many other things along the way if they had. The Avengers had only wanted him around once it was convenient for them. And Stark, handing out charity, when Peter was just as smart and perfectly capable of achieving for himself.

“Well.” Peter shifted uncomfortably, aware of his gut hanging out of the old sweats and t-shirt he’d dug out of his closet, swaddled in blankets, versus Stark in a pristine tailored suit, looking trim and fit despite the two decades between them. “Thanks.” 

“So tell me more about this cellular degradation,” Stark said.

Peter would have preferred a few more hours of sleep, but Stark made a call and soon they were at the kitchen table with the most delicious French roast Peter had ever tasted, delivered by Stark’s assistant. He told the whole tale, because, well, Stark’s input couldn’t _hurt_.

When he’d finished, Stark got up and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll get you temporary access to my labs, just until you get this straightened out and get back on your feet. Fascinating stuff, being directly exposed to a particle beam. Anatoli Bugorski, accidentally stuck his head in one back in the 70s, and everyone’s still trying to figure out how he survived it.”

“Probably doesn’t hurt that I’m already irradiated,” Peter said.

Stark had a distant look on his face, like his mind was elsewhere considering just how Peter’s entering the stream had led to the events that followed. “And as for Connors’ serum, SHIELD cleaned up after that mess. I’ll talk to Fury about getting you a sample.”

For so long, Peter had resisted the idea of working with a team and had convinced himself it was for the best. Except having worked with Miles, and Gwen, and Noir, and Peni, and hell, even Peter Porker definitely wasn’t the nightmare he would have expected. And working with Wade had been so good that thinking of working alone again didn’t have the same appeal.

“Thank you, Stark,” Peter said with gravity, offering a hand for Stark to shake. “Fury’s still pissed about that time I borrowed one of their motorcycles and accidentally drove it off the side of the helicarrier.”

Stark cracked a smile, then laughed outright. “I seem to recall a web zipline that snapped under the weight.”

“I was still perfecting the web fluid at that point in time.”

“I’m glad you’re back, Peter,” Stark said. “We’ll help you figure this out.”

*

Having access to Stark’s labs was unreal. Peter spent a lot of time kicking himself over how often and vigorously he’d fought against working here. Now he’d probably just look like an ass if he came crawling around asking for the job he’d turned down a dozen times before.

Still, even with Stark’s tech and insanely well-stocked labs, not to mention both his and Doctor Banner’s input whenever they wandered over to Peter’s work station, there still wasn’t a clear-cut solution to his problem.

(Other than the one both Banner and Stark pointed out, but Peter already _knew_ that, and he still wasn’t about to involve the other Spider-People to help solve his problem, at risk to their own persons.)

Despite the whole thing feeling more than a little hopeless, the fact was, Peter felt fine. He knew the glitches would return gradually in time. Even with Connor’s serum, Peter hadn’t been able to recreate the solution he’d used without Wade’s blood. Maybe in time he’d be desperate enough to look up Logan, but that was a concern for future Peter.

In the meantime, he was itching to get back to work. So far, there were only a handful of people who were aware of Spider-Man’s return--basically the few people in the labs who knew about Peter’s identity. But Peter knew it was only a matter of time before he was going to see someone in need of help, or feel the familiar tingle down his spine, or just give in to the need to feel the air whipping by as he swung through the city, and he’d have to don the suit.

MJ deserved to know he was back, before he hit the streets as Spider-Man and the media exploded with news of his return. But more than that, Peter just wanted to see her and tell her of everything that had happened. For the better part of two decades, she’d been his confidante, the one person he could turn to when he ran into a problem as Peter or Spidey, who’d listen patiently and help him work through things when he couldn’t see a way out.

Peter made his way into Manhattan, towards their old townhouse, hoodie pulled low over his face as he travelled the familiar route. He couldn’t just go knocking on the door. It was better to get the lay of the land, find out where she was in her life, instead of simply sweeping back into it just because he needed to talk to her.

Which was how he found himself perched on the rooftop across the street, afforded with a view through the windows.

MJ was still living there after all. Peter couldn’t blame her, even with all the past hanging over it like a cloud--it was a nice square footage and rent control, in a good part of town. The park across the street had been a major selling point when they’d moved it. At the time, Peter had thought it was because she liked to take her morning jogs there, but now he conceded it probably had more to do with the potential of the gigantic playground. 

In the kitchen, MJ gathered a mug and got down the honey from its place in the cabinet above. The movement, with body stretched out on tiptoes to reach, served to highlight the bump on her abdomen. Peter didn’t really know how to gauge such things, but he’d guess it was at least five months, possibly a lot more.

Peter slumped back on his heels and onto his ass, all the air leaving his lungs in a rush. He didn’t know how long he sat there, as the lingering daylight completely disappeared from the sky, replaced by the twinkling city lights, and night fully fell. 

At some point, a man came along. He was handsome in perfectly chiseled sort of way--cheekbones you could cut yourself on, strong, straight nose, generous smile that shone white against his warm brown skin, and a wave of silky black hair falling over his forehead. There was something familiar about him, that Peter couldn’t place.

He greeted MJ with a kiss, bending over the back of her chair to wrap loose arms around her shoulders, with one hand going down to stroke her stomach. Their lips moved, and Peter knew that quirk to MJ’s lips. He remembered the words that accompanied it, fond and teasing.

It felt wrong to watch them, voyeuristic in a way that watching MJ alone hadn’t. Though now, he had to admit, it hadn’t been his MJ he’d been watching. Peter levered himself up and dusted off his hands. He’d need to let MJ know he was back at some point, but right now, with everything else on his plate, he didn’t have the emotional strength to deal with the inevitable fallout of that reunion.

As he was contemplating whether to head back to the lab or to just head home and grab some take out, his Spidey Sense gave a faint spark. It wasn’t the sharp shock of impending danger, but the gentler warning that, despite what his other senses might say, he wasn’t alone. Peter turned slowly on his heel, taking in the darkened skyline behind him. In the shadow of the building next door was a familiar, hulking figure all in red and black, save for his missing mask.

Peter’s shoulders sagged in disbelief and relief, and something warmer that spread like whisky through his stomach. He shook his head at the notion, like that could somehow make it stop. “How did you even find me here?”

“I am a master mercenary, you know,” Wade scoffed. “Tracking you weren’t no thing, Spidey-babe.”

Peter gave him a dubious look, crossed arms and arched brow, and Wade made an exasperated sound. “Okay, fine.” He held up the familiar universe-hopping device for Peter to see. “I tuned it to your genetic code. Brought me right to you.”

Wade started over toward him. For a split second, Peter had the absurd notion of trying to block his view of the window, or to take his arm and lead him away before he could see. He couldn’t exactly say what started the panicked beat of his heart, or how he froze, and then Wade was right there and it was too late. 

“Hey.” Peter’s voice was sticky in the back of his throat, staring up into Wade’s face. Even with everything else going on, even with MJ and everything she represented right there behind him, all Peter could think about was the memory of what that mouth had felt like against his own.

Wade’s gaze shifted from Peter’s to the scene of domestic bliss across the way, and Peter deflated, and turned to stare with him. Now the man was in the kitchen, working on dinner at the stove, and MJ was chopping vegetables at the island, hips swaying to music he could just hear if he strained his ears.

“So much for going and getting her,” Wade said. “I gotta say, I think you could still win her back. Looks like the sort of style over substance kinda fellow. Crossfit and craft beers. Bet his idea of vacation is extreme sports and camping. I mean, how many times has _he_ saved the city.”

Peter squinted at the face, which looked more and more familiar the longer he stared. “Holy shit, I think that’s Bobby Carr.” At Wade’s questioning look, he clarified, “He actually did save the city in Kiss Before I Die I through IV.”

Wade nudged him in the side. “I could give you the friends and family rate, if you want me to take him out for you.”

It shocked a laugh from Peter. “You’re insane.”

“I thought I was a Sagittarius,” Wade quipped.

Peter turned to give him an incredulous look. And then, looking Wade in the face again set his heart going again, which was absolutely absurd. So they’d kissed--Peter was nearly forty, for Christ’s sake. There was no reason to be acting like a lovesick teenager over it. He forced himself to look away, dropping down to sit on the edge of the rooftop.

“It’s not like I expected her to wait, but until just now, seeing her like this, it wasn’t entirely real that she’d lived two whole years without me in them.”

Wade sat beside him, jostling Peter as he sat, close enough for discomfort if it had been anyone else. Instead, Peter found himself leaning into the heat Wade generated. He’d been missing Wade ever since they’d parted ways and it was reason enough to get past his hesitation and doubt, and let his head rest on Wade’s shoulder. After another hesitation on Wade’s part, he rested his cheek on top of Peter’s hair.

The horizon was lit up from the sunset. As crazy as it might have been with everything else going on, Peter was content.


	6. Chapter 6

[Is this real life? Is this just fantasy?]

Wade steadfastly refused to give in to the urge to hum along as White started up harmonising with Yellow, probably just to piss him off. He focused instead on the sensation of Peter tucked up against him. His hair was impossibly soft, and smelled vaguely fruity. Wade drew a deep chestful of air and let it out slowly, worried any movement might bring Peter back to his senses, at which point he’d shove Wade away.

[[He did kiss us.]]

“Temporary insanity.” Happened all the time when hopping from universe to universe. Wires getting crossed in the head. Peter made a questioning noise, and Wade redirected his attention. “Woulda thought this would’ve been your first stop, when you got back.”

The singing in his head stopped abruptly.

[[Oh, great idea. Is it fucking genetic? The need to fuck up every potentially good moment in your life?]]

Peter breathed a little humourless laugh. “Yeah, that had been the plan. Once upon a time.”

“You know, far be it from me to give relationship advice.”

[[This is gonna be good.]]

“This is gonna be good.”

“Wow, surround sound. You’re coming at me from all directions.” 

“I’m not sure how I feel about being in agreement with the voices in your head,” Peter said, sitting up straight.

Wade knocked their shoulders together. “Shaddap.” Peter laughed and knocked back against him with enough force to remind which of them was stronger. “Look, just because one relationship failed because one person wasn’t able to accept both halves of you, doesn’t mean the same goes for everyone else in your life.”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Peter muttered.

“I don’t think you do though.” Wade fought the urge to just shake him. “You have all these people who care about you, who want to help you, and you know, at first I thought it was just pure self-destructiveness, keeping you from accepting help, or maybe stubbornness, I don’t know.”

“Oh, and now you think you’ve got it all figured out.” Peter put a little distance between them, leaning back on his hands to stare at Wade expectantly. “Please, by all means.”

“See, you’re doing it right now!” Wade pointed an accusing finger. “It’s your defense mechanism, and whoa buddy, do I empathise with that shit.”

“Well, thanks for that insight,” Peter said.

“Ah, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Wade teased. “Some of us have questionable humour, others have avoidance and depersonalisation.”

“Some of us have all three.” Peter scowled. “Where do you get this pop-psychology bullshit, anyway?”

Wade waved a hand. “It’s just Doctor Jerry babble.”

“Who’s that now?” Peter asked, brow wrinkled.

“You know, Doctor Jerry, with the self-help books and the talk show where he makes people confront their issues.”

“I don’t think we’ve got that one in our world.”

“You don’t know Doctor Jerry?” Wade gasped. “Oprah’s most questionable so-called expert. ‘We teach people how to treat us.’ You know, Jerry Springer.”

Peter buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

[You made him cry, what the fuck?!]

“Peter.” Wade put a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

Peter gasped in laughter. “Jerry Springer is your universe’s Doctor Phil!”

“Doctor Phil? You mean that asshole who hosted that day time talk show slash amateur wrestling match?”

Peter laid his head back on Wade’s shoulder, as his laughter faded into chuckles, and then out altogether. He sighed and turned his face into Wade’s chest, and Wade was hesitant to call it snuggling, because who the fuck would ever want to snuggle him, but signs would seem to indicate otherwise.

[Do the fake yawn arm wrap thing.]

[[That’s never cool.]]

“Shut the fuck up, my moves are always hot,” Wade said, reaching out to wrap an arm around Peter’s back. The way his hand fit in the curve of Peter’s waist, digging into the little pooch of fat there, it just felt like they’d been made to sit together like this.

“I looked you up, when I got back,” Peter said, after a while.

“Oh yeah?” Wade wasn’t sure he wanted to know what had become of this universe’s version. He couldn’t help but hate the other Wades--whether they were the ones who’d ended up with powers without the butter face side-effects, or the ones the cancer had mercifully finished off before Weapon X came along, or the ones who’d skipped both the cancer and the powers, and just settled down with Vaessa.

“I was hoping maybe you were wrong,” Peter admitted. “Maybe there was someone in this universe who might not be turned off by the train wreck you see before you.”

“Baby, you’re a hot mess, but you’re still lookin’ hella fine,” Wade half-sang.

There was a thread of fondness under Peter’s exasperation when he spoke. “I don’t get your references.”

“More than most of you,” Wade said. “So what happened to him? The other me.”

Peter sat up, face turned away to the side. “Never came home from Afghanistan.”

Wade whistled. “He went young, lucky bastard.”

“Hey!” Peter snapped. “No double standards. Either I’m allowed to be a self-destructive asshole, or neither of us is.”

[[Jesus, you’re perfect for each other.]]

“I wondered what it might have been like, if he’d hung around in this universe. If we’d met here. But then this me might have never met this you,” Peter said, pointing between them. His eyes flicked over Wade’s face, landing briefly on his mouth, and he bit down on his own full bottom lip. It was seriously fucking distracting, and Wade was weighing the potential pros of leaning in for a kiss against the chances of getting pushed off the roof edge, when Peter turned away again.

“Maybe your Doctor Jerry isn’t completely full of shit.” And then, under his breath, “Words I never thought I’d say.”

“You might be the first to have said them,” Wade agreed.

“I’m used to doing all this by myself, since I was fifteen. And then the one time I reached out, the one time I thought I found a partner. Well.” Peter gestured across the street. “You see how that turned out.”

“Alright, feelsy-baby.” Wade hopped to his feet. “Time to give it another shot.” He pulled an unresisting Peter up as well, who echoed a bewildered _feelsy-baby?_

“You know,” Wade explained, “the kids with the skinny jeans and the pointy hair, who listen to Anxiety@ the Rave as their tears streak their impeccably applied eyeliner?”

Peter gave him a look as if Wade might as well have been speaking a foreign language. “And you say my universe is fucked up,” he muttered.

*

The lights were on at May’s, when they arrived back. Peter had a disorienting moment, unsure of what to expect when he opened the front door. Time travel and dimension hopping had made it difficult, despite what he knew rationally to be true, to fully believe he was where he was, when he was. Though he knew May to be dead, his heart still picked up speed at the approach to the front door. Reality these days felt subjective.

Rather than finding Aunt May doing her sudoku puzzles in the chair by the window, Peter found the home packed with Spidey-People. Peni was tucked up next to Peter--the black and white one--on the sofa, showing him something on a tablet which held his full attention. In the corner, Miles was playing chess with SP//dr. Through the archway, Peter--the spider, or was it pig version--and Gwen were visible in the kitchen. He was using a wooden spatula on a skillet, and Gwen was looking on in a sort of horrified fascination. 

It was comforting, after the initial, immediate burn of disappointment, to have the house so full. He could only imagine Aunt May’s reaction to them all. She’d been softer than the other Peter’s May, less sass and sarcasm and more gentle nurturing. Before the night was out, she’d have informally adopted them, he didn’t doubt.

“Oh hey look,” Gwen muttered, when she saw him. “Mister Martyr Complex finally showed up.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter snapped. “I seem to recall four others present insisting on being the one to stay behind in Miles’ universe to use the goober, _despite_ the inevitability of a painful death.”

“Self-sacrifice comes with the suit,” Peter-the-Pig said sagely.

“It seems to have skipped over me,” Miles said in a faux whisper to Wade, who ruffled his hair.

“Good man. I think there’s more than enough self-destruction in this group.”

Miles batted away his hand and fluffed his hair, giving Wade a _you’re one to talk_ arch of his brow.

“Heard you were behind the eightball, kid,” said the other Peter, like something out of a noir novel.

“Yeah,” Miles agreed. “Imagine my surprise when _Deadpool_ shows up at Visions--” Peter cringed in sympathy; he would rather not imagine it, actually, “And tells me that not only did you find a way to cure yourself, but you straight up lied to us, man.”

“Yeah, so we’re here to help.” Gwen fixed him with a steely glare, cross-armed in the doorway. “Whether you like it or not.”

Wade clapped his hands together. “Great, so that’s settled then!”

Peter turned to glare in his direction. “We’re going to talk about this, later.”

“Oooh.” Wade gave a gleeful little squeal. “Can’t wait, Petey.”

Suddenly, the Noir Peter was at his side, standing uncomfortably close. “Um,” Peter said. “Hey, Peter, how ya been?”

“I got no kick,” Noir said, and Peter just nodded agreeably. He needed to find a dictionary for this guy. “Remember kid, the point isn’t to live forever.” Noir clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You just gotta die more slowly.” 

Peter patted him back reassuringly before taking a step to put a little space between them. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m sorry things have been so hard, Peter,” Peni said, looking up at him with those impossibly huge eyes. “It was tough for me, too, after what happened with SP//dr.” She took his hand in her own. “We’ll fix you up again, just like I fixed him.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile in the face of that. “I appreciate you guys being here, but you have to understand the risks. This isn’t just some simple blood donation. You’re going to be giving away some of the essential building blocks that make you _you_. And even if you will heal from it, you’ll never be that same version of you again.”

Peni rolled her eyes, all that little girl vulnerability gone in a second. “Duh, we’re scientists too, you know.” She hopped up onto the arm of the sofa to climb onto SP//dr’s shoulders. “We’ve run several calculations. With the damage spread between the six of us and our healing factors, any changes will be so minuscule as to be unnoticeable.”

“Though you will have actual spider in you,” Gwen said, and added, as an afterthought, “and pig.”

Wade opened his mouth, and Peter decided to nip whatever dirty joke he was going to make right in the bud. He slapped a hand over Wade’s mouth and gave him a warning look. Honestly, he was a bit surprised Wade didn’t lick him. His voice came out muffled. “I was just gonna say it’s not very kosher!”

“Maybe it’s a little unorthodox,” Peter-the-Pig said. “But you get used to it. I’m sure you’ll be swine--I mean, fine!” He grinned in that cartoonishly broad way that only he was capable of. “Besides, judging by the fatback I’d assumed you were already a little bit pig.”

“Yes, thank you, we hadn’t had our quotia of fat-shaming for the day.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Alright, _if_ we’re going to do this--”

“We’re doing it,” Gwen interjected.

“We didn’t make the trip for biscuits,” Noir told him, looking stern.

“Riiiight.” Peter gave an exaggerated nod of frustration. “So we’ll need to reconstruct the collider, which might be a little tricky.”

“Yeah, man, you weren’t kidding about the shack out back, huh?” Miles said.

Gwen waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s getting a little whiffy out there. Maybe invest in some Febreze.”

“I’ve been a little busy working on finding a cure since I got back. Sorry my house-keeping isn’t up to your standards.”

“It’s okay,” Wade murmured reassuringly, coming up close behind him. “I like the Man Musk.”

Peter turned his head to the side to hide the flush in his cheeks from the others. “Could you not?” he hissed, and Wade gave him an unrepentant grin and wiggle of his brows.

“And they say us teenagers are bad,” Gwen said.

“Okay, look, I’ve been working with Stark and Banner. I’m sure they could help us get everything set up. I mean, Christ, the man built an accelerator in like, forty-eight hours to create a new element. He’s probably got the equipment lying around somewhere.”

“Then let’s get cracklin’!” Peter Porker exclaimed. “But first, I made dinner!”

“Don’t eat that,” Gwen said, from the corner of her mouth. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s…”

“Whaaat?” Peter-the-Pig cried. “It’s just long pig!”

“Grub is grub where I come from,” Noir Peter said, already poised over a plate with a fork. 

“We’re never visiting his universe, right?” Miles whispered fervently. Peter, wide-eyed in horror, just nodded in agreement.

*

Stark Tower, regardless of the universe, was guaranteed to be a monument to the man’s ego, and this one was no exception. They approached from the sky, to avoid drawing the attention of the general public entering through the lobby. Instead, Wade riding piggyback with Peter, they swung up to the ostentatious landing platform right above the giant A.

Stark himself was seated at the bar inside when they entered, along with the Captain and Potts, nursing a drink. He took each of them in with a sort of stoic silence, while Potts just blinked in disbelief and Cap looked like he might be having a stroke.

“So,” Stark said, after he’d finished his entire drink in one swallow, and cleared his throat. “All that acid I did at MIT is finally coming out of my spinal fluid--good to know.”

“I told you about my, ah, counterparts.” Peter gestured in their direction. Peni and the ham waived; Noir gave a tip of his hat.

“Yeah,” Banner agreed, rubbing his eyes. “I guess I was just not taking the pig thing literally.”

Porker shrugged. “I ham what I am.”

Stark went down the line, greeting them, until he reached Wade, who he took in with an arched brow. “And you’re Spider-Man on ‘roids?”

[A Stark who doesn’t know who we are? Oooh, the possibilities.]

“This is Deadpool, he’s…” Peter trailed off, clearly at a loss for how to continue. The boxes were all too happy to fill in with their own less than flattering suggestions for how he might finish the sentence, and were appropriately chastened when Peter finished, “a friend.”

“Aww, shucks, Petey,” Wade cooed. He sidled up close to his side, leaning in, shoulder to shoulder. To Stark, he clarified, “Extra _Special_ Friend,” and was gratified when Peter didn’t try to deny it.

“Also.” Wade produced a business card from his pouch and passed it over to Stark. “Captain of the X-Force, Honorary X-Man (trainee), and mercenary extraordinaire, at your service.

Stark held the card between his fingers like it was something infectious. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

“So.” Potts seemed to have recovered, giving them all a smile. “What, ah, can we do for you today?”

“You the high pillow around here?” Noir asked her. “We need the Jack to get the laser tunnel hitting on eight so we can take it on the heel and toe to get Pete here outta Dutch.”

A sort of resounding silence followed, Potts clearly bewildered. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, no doubt trying to find a decorous way to ask _what the fuck_. 

Peter took pity on her.

“We need to build a particle accelerator in your lab.”


	7. Chapter 7

Stark was already down to help before Peter, Peni, and Gwen explained the process. Apparently anything dangerous involving magnets, lasers, and the potential for human experimentation was enough to earn his enthusiastic participation.

They ordered dinner in and set about making the adjustments they’d need to the collider Stark already had mostly assembled in the basement. “No one was using these old tunnels,” he’d explained. 

“Just casually destroying the habitat of hyper intelligent ninja rats,” Wade said. He shook his head mournfully.

“Where will they raise their mutated turtle sons?” Peter asked.

“Your references are so dated,” Miles told them, expression blandly unimpressed.

If Wade had felt out of his depth before, when it had just been Peter, Gwen, and Miles, it was nothing compared to now, with the addition of five more geniuses, all crowding around the equipment spouting off technobabble that wouldn’t be out of place in an episode of Star Trek. Wade wasn’t dumb --

[[Wow, you’d be adorable if you weren’t so fucking sad.]]

\-- but his eyes always tended to glaze over during those parts. 

So instead, Wade found himself taking advantage of the fact that Stark didn’t know better yet, and hadn’t thought to warn Friday about him, to check out the rest of the place.

When they met, rare though the occasions had been, the Peter of Wade’s universe liked to extoll the virtues of joining the Avengers. Maybe if he’d detailed the swanky living quarters and amenities, Wade would’ve been sold. It was all the luxury of the X Mansion without the creepy mausoleum vibe.

In one of the rooms he was pretty sure belonged to Captain America, there was a hot tub big enough to host a whole cheer squad, were one so inclined.

[Or several alternate versions of Spidey.]

Wade hummed. Now there was an idea he could get behind.

Peter found him in the early hours of morning, with the sun just starting to crest over the horizon. He’d discovered another room where he’d spent most of his time checking out an insane collection of blades. Wade couldn’t figure out whose room it was, but he would love to meet them. 

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here,” Peter said, eyeing the collection warily.

“Afraid Papa Stark will ground you?”

“I’m more afraid of whoever those belong to.” 

That being said, Peter still took a seat on the padded bench at the foot of the bed. In the entire time Wade had known this version of Peter, he hadn’t exactly looked his best, but the exhaustion right now gave him an unhealthy pallor, and the skin beneath his eyes was bruised and frail.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” Wade asked, coming to sit beside him. “You guys create a black hole that’s going to devour the planet yet?”

Peter gave him a little chuckle. “Too many cooks in the kitchen. I decided to take a break and let Peni and Porker drive Stark crazy instead. They started talking about Monstrous Moonshine and the Hierarchy Problem, and I decided I was just too tired for that shit. The others crashed for a few hours.”

“Two questions: do you have access to some of this Monstrous Moonshine, and also, are you implying the pig has an advanced understanding of theoretical physics?”

“He is a Spider-Man,” Peter said. “It comes with the gig.”

Beneath the tiredness, there was something else in Peter’s face. Disappointment, or maybe regret. “Are you still angsting over the whole taking particles from the others in order to survive, even though it won’t have any sort of lasting negative impact on anyone thing?”

“No!” Peter snapped, and then sighed. “Yes, but they’ve made their choice, and I have to respect that.”

“Oh yeah, poor Peter, being saved by his friends.” Peter elbowed him in the side. “So what’s with the face?”

Peter looked at him with a questioning furrow between his brow, and then his expression melted into recognition. “I don’t know, it’d probably sound crazy out loud.”

“I speak to dialogue boxes that float in the air,” Wade said, deadpan.

Peter got up and paced over to the wall-length window overlooking the city. “It’s surreal, being back home, like I really did just disappear to nowhere for two years.”

“Dimension-lag,” Wade said. “Like a Katy Perry/Skrillex mash-up on repeat while your body turns itself inside out kind of hangover, only turned up to 11.” At Peter’s half-amused, half-questioning look, he added, “You get used to it.”

Peter shook his head. “No it’s--This is home. I can _feel_ it. Something down in my very atoms telling me this is where I’m supposed to be. Just like when I was in your universe, the entire time, there was this low-grade hum in the back of my skull, reminding me I didn’t belong. But--”

“Huh,” Wade said, after a long silence, when it became clear Peter wasn’t going to continue. “Maybe it’s the healing factor, or maybe it’s just the screaming, torturous pain of unending tumour regeneration, but I’ve never experienced that.”

“Are you--” Peter bit his bottom lip. “Does it really hurt that much? Your scars?”

[[Oh great, here comes the pity parade.]]

And yeah, Wade just generally preferred not talking about it or thinking about it. Mostly just keeping every inch of it covered. Out of sight, out of mind. “We were discussing your source of angst, not mine.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m really over the angst. I don’t think I can pull off the feelsy-baby aesthetic.”

“Oh I don’t know.” Wade followed him to the window. “I could stand to see that ass in a pair of skinny jeans.” There wasn’t a whole lot of reasons he could see _not_ to, so he reached out to run a hand over said ass in emphasis. 

Peter jumped a little, stepping in closer to Wade and bringing his hands up to his chest. “My suit is _skin tight_ ,” he protested.

“True.” Boldened by the fact that Peter hadn’t complained, Wade decided to go for a handful, palming Peter’s asscheek and giving a rough squeeze. Peter’s breath caught and his hips stuttered forward. Wade massaged the flesh, really digging his fingers into the muscle, and Peter actually groaned, at least a full octave lower than his normal register. His forehead fell forward to rest against Wade’s chest. “I could deal with seeing it _out_ of a pair of skinny jeans.”

Reaching up, Peter grabbed the back of Wade’s mask and tugged it off, while his other hand came up to Wade’s cheek, guiding him down. Fuck, his mouth was all kinds of amazing. Peter kissed with the same skill and precision as he fought, with a tremulous little thread of hunger that made Wade hard as a rock in his tights.

Wade turned them, putting Peter’s back up against the window and crowding in close. It was gratifying how Peter responded to him, on the roof before and now, spreading his legs to make space for Wade. And oh, Wade took that invitation, tucked himself up in there, knees to the window, feet braced so he could grind up against Peter’s hard-on.

“Fuck,” Peter moaned, with their mouths still pressed together, sharing breath. His hands ran down Wade’s back, pushing like they could get any closer than they already were.

[[I could think of a few ways to accomplish that…]]

Peter rocked down to meet the upward thrust of Wade’s hips. They were the wrong heights for this, which made it all kinds of awkward, but Wade just couldn’t find it in himself to care enough to stop. Every few thrusts they got it just right, sending electric shocks down his spine, and Peter’s fingers were gonna leave marks, the way he was clinging. He kept making this noise, somewhere between surprise and desperation, and Wade committed it to memory, for when Peter inevitably came to his senses.

“Petey,” Wade breathed, tearing away from the kiss the suck a line of red marks along his jaw, and down the column of his neck. Peter gave a shaky little moan when Wade found a sensitive spot just at the place where his collarbone met shoulder. Wade mouthed the spot and then bit down hard, and Peter fisted the material of Wade’s suit and twisted against him. He let Wade suck on the spot for a moment before grabbing him by the face and guiding him into another kiss, rougher than before, less practiced.

Wade got a hand between them to grope at Peter’s groin, really getting a feel for the size of him, and his mouth watered. “You gotta let me suck your dick.”

“Holy shit,” Peter whined, and put up no protest when Wade dropped down to his knees, pushing up Peter’s shirt on the way. He could tell by the way Peter sucked in all his breath that he wasn’t used to being seen like this, with the extra weight he’d put on. Wade made a show of kissing a path down Peter’s stomach to his waistband as his fingers undid the button and dragged down the zipper.

Peter’s hips rocked forward as Wade eased his jeans and boxer briefs down. Wade hadn’t been lying about enjoying the smell of Peter, thick and earthy, and stronger here. Peter’s cock was long, jutting out like it was just begging to be sucked, and curving upward just slightly. Wade leaned in to drag his tongue over the head, reveling in the salty, musky taste, and Peter exhaled roughly. His hands came up to rest gently atop Wade’s head.

When Wade glanced up, it was to find Peter watching him with wide eyes, almost like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Wade wrapped his hand around his length and stroked a couple of times, quirking a grin at the way Peter’s lashes fluttered and his mouth fell open. Well, if he thought that was good, Wade was gonna blow is fucking mind.

Ducking his head, Wade wrapped his lips around Peter’s dick and sunk all the way down til he was kissing his own fist at the base. Who needed a gag reflex when you could make Peter Parker make those _sounds_? Wade brought his other hand up the back of Peter’s thigh, which trembled at the touch, and cupped his ass again, urging Peter to move with him.

Once he got the hint, it was like a switch had been flipped. His fingers splayed over Wade’s scalp, holding on tight, and he rocked forward, thrusting his hips in time with the bobbing of Wade’s head. “Fuck, Wade, you’re so fucking--”

Wade hummed in questioning when Peter trailed off, and at the sensation, Peter’s hips gave a sharp jerk as his dick leaked precum on Wade’s tongue. “Yes, fuck, do that again, how--” he cut off with a sharp cry when Wade did this thing with his tongue along the underside of his cock, hollowing out his cheeks.

“I--I haven’t--ah--It’s been a while,” Peter managed. “I’m not--”

Wade pulled back with a wet popping sound, but he kept up the pace with his hand, jerking Peter off roughly. “Where you wanna come, Pete?” he asked, voice raspy, and Peter’s cock pulsed with more precum. Wade gave him a filthy grin. “On my tits? On my face?” he let his voice drop lower. “In my mouth?”

The muscles in Peter’s ass tightened and he inhaled sharply, which was all the answer Wade needed. He kept jerking and leaned in again to take just the first couple inches in his mouth. He found the ridges of skin just beneath the head and worked that spot back and forth with the tip of his tongue until Peter’s movements turned jerky, and then, with one last thrust, suddenly stilled. He came in hot, salty pulses down Wade’s throat.

Wade sucked him through it, swallowing down every drop. He let Peter slip from between his lips after, tracing his tongue down the side just to make Peter twitch, to see how far he’d let Wade push him past the point of comfort. Sucked the head briefly between his lips, and Peter’s grip on his scalp tightened further, but he didn’t actually push Wade away, or tell him to stop, and for whatever reason, that was really doing it for Wade’s cock, which was growing painful at this point.

He reached down to palm himself and the movement drew Peter’s attention. He pushed at Wade’s shoulders until Wade finally let him go, but Peter didn’t go far. He just kicked the rest the way out of his jeans and briefs, and then lowered himself down into Wade’s lap. They met in a kiss that Peter didn’t break, even as he shoved Wade back flat against the floor and followed him down.

For a few minutes he fumbled with Wade’s belt and waistband before giving up in a huff. “Does this thing ever come off?”

Wade chuckled and reached down to help him. It was gratifying how bad Peter wanted it.

[Yeah, or just shows how desperate he is…]

What the fuck ever. Wade couldn’t bring himself to care what they thought, when as soon as his dick was free, both Peter’s hands were on him. He didn’t even seem fazed by the scars, his thumbs dragging back and forth over the shapes he found there. 

“I haven’t done this in a while, either,” Peter admitted, lips brushing Wade’s with every word spoken.

“There is literally nothing you could do that I wouldn’t find impressive at this particular moment,” Wade told him earnestly. “It’s not gonna take a lot.”

Peter arched an amused brow, and then just like that he was sinking down Wade’s body to straddle his legs, and that fucking gorgeous mouth was on Wade’s dick. Peter might have been out of practice, but he knew what felt good, and he did it, with gusto. And Wade was right: it really didn’t take much at all.

Normally, Wade liked to brag on his stamina, but it was over far too quickly even when he desperately wished to make it last. His balls drew tight and Peter reached down to massage them gently in his palm while he sucked on the head. Wade made the mistake of looking down to see those lips, red and sinfully luscious, wrapped around his dick. He arched off the floor as he came.

Peter sat up, wiping at his mouth with a smug, self-satisfied expression. “Still got it.”

Wade laced his fingers through Peter’s hair and jerked him down, and Peter went easily, laughing, as he pressed their lips together. There was a looseness in him, an ease in his body that Wade remembered from watching him fight. It was a good look on him.

Lying against his side, Peter tucked his face into Wade’s neck, lips touching but not quite kissing the skin. He licked one of the winding scars on its path from shoulder to ear and hummed inquisitively. “Do they hurt now?”

“Not bad,” Wade answered, which was the best answer he could give. They always hurt, but sometimes worse than others, and sometimes he forgot entirely about them, whether because of worse pain, or pleasure, or distraction. 

[[And Peter is a lovely distraction.]]

It was only once the boxes came back online that Wade even noticed they’d been missing there for a minute. Huh. Apparently in this instance, the mind-blowing descriptor was more appropriate than anyone could have guessed.

“You know what I was saying before? About how being in the wrong universe doesn’t affect me the same way?” Peter made a questioning noise, as his teeth closed around Wade’s earlobe. “I was just thinking--”

“Sorry to intrude,” a female voice said, and for one pant-shitting moment of terror, Wade thought that they’d discovered the owner of the room and it was Natasha who, regardless of universe, was not one to be fucked with.

[Or in whose room you should fuck.]

But then it continued on, with that faintly artificial cadence, and Wade realised it was just Friday. “But Mister Stark wanted me to inform you that they’ve finished running their tests, and would like everyone to gather at the collider.”

“Thanks Friday,” Peter said, and then groaned, thumping his forehead against Wade’s shoulder. “You don’t think she, uh, listened in on all of that?”

“Holy shit!” Wade exclaimed. “Are there cameras in this place?” He craned his neck to take in the nooks and crannies of the ceiling. “I wonder if she recorded it, and if so, where I can find a copy.”

Peter climbed to his feet, snorting in amusement, and went to gather his clothing. There was something about the way he looked, in nothing but his socks and sweater, mostly soft cock hanging out the bottom, that was really doing it for Wade. He could already feel a kink starting to form.

Wade tucked his arms back behind his head and watched him dress. It was true, the suit didn’t really leave anything to the imagination, but there was something different about his toned bare legs as he slipped them back in his jeans. Soft, vulnerable, intimate.

[Fuck, you’ve got it bad.]

“I wasn’t even trying to hide that,” Wade muttered.

That got Peter’s attention, and his gaze fell over Wade, momentarily caught up on his exposed cock. “Come on,” he said, reaching down to pull Wade up. That was really hot, too, the way he could just lift Wade bodily to his feet. Hot enough that Wade purposefully stumbled them into the window, bending to lick into Peter’s mouth. Peter let him for just a second, caught up in the slide of their mouths together, before pushing him away.

“Can’t leave the Martyrhood of the Spider-People waiting.”

Peter smacked him on the ass as he passed, and Wade stared after him, both hands clutching his bottom, as the boxes went wild with wolf whistles and praise for Peter’s daring. And Wade had to agree, but then again, he’d already known Peter was a keeper.

*

Peter had tried to compose himself in the reflective surface of the elevator walls on the way down, but between Miles’ and Gwen’s looks of knowing teenaged disgust, it was safe to say he hadn’t pulled it off. Possibly owing to the fact that right after fixing his hair, Wade had pinned him to the wall and run his fingers through it as they kissed. Wade seemed to have a thing for pushing him up against walls, and Peter was super into it.

Peter-the-Pig produced a comb out of who even knew where, handing it over with a leer. Peter snapped it away from him and shoved it in his back pocket. Gwen bumped into his side, radiating judgement of his life choices. “Good of you two to join us,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

Peter elbowed her in the side and cleared his throat. “Did I miss anything?”

“All silk so far,” Noir said. “Stark’s gotta Jane in the computer that’s made it all duck soup. Who woulda thoughta making his own gal Friday outta spare parts.”

“Well, once Potts got promoted to fiance, he needed someone else to fill the role,” Wade muttered.

Stark gave Wade a squinty look. “Just for curiosity’s sake, how would you describe the relationship between yourself and my counterpart in your universe?”

“Frigid might be too warm a descriptor,” Wade said with a winning smile.

Stark nodded, one brow quirked in amusement, and turned his attention back to the group as a whole. “Peni and I finished hammering out the issue with Bluth Particle and made some tweaks to Doctor Octavia’s work.”

“She was mostly spot on about the damage to our cells, but she missed some crucial details,” Peni explained. “We all know that physics differ from universe to universe, which is why all of our atoms are oscillating at different frequencies. It’s why anyone visiting a different universe can’t stay for extended periods of time without starting to experience serious side-effects.”

“Yes, but I was fascinated by these glitches of yours--that was something different,” Stark said. He tapped a button on the tablet on the table, and it projected his screen in the air before them. 

A chart came up showing the variance in frequency of the particles, and the potential well and bottom. “When you’re in another universe, the changes are gradual, and while the effects can be devastating if not treated in time, it can take some time before they become apparent.” 

“Accelerated cellular degeneration, loss of bone density, high potential of aeortic dissection, to name a few.” Peter-the-Pig ticked the points off on his three fingers. “Not to mention the psychological factors.”

Peter wasn’t expecting the jab to his shoulder from a pissed-off Gwen. “Which is why your serum would only have made it take longer for you to recognise the damage being done from you coming back here!”

“Except in your guys’ case, it was more severe, because of the exchange of particles,” Stark interjected. Peter tried to shoot him a _you’re really not helping_ look, but Stark either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “Not only were you experiencing the variation between your own particles and that of the world around you, you were _also_ experiencing it internally, with the foreign particles.”

Wade raised his hand. “Is there anyway you could possibly explain this in terms that your average comic book reader could comprehend.”

Stark huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. “These particles were basically tunneling through the host’s, leaving the cellular makeup looking like Swiss cheese.”

“So wait.” Peter held up a hand. “If that’s the case, then how is having me take their particles--” he pointed around to the other Spidey People “--going to help?

“That’s what we were working on, while you were off...resting,” Gwen said.

“Is that what you call it where you’re from?” the pig asked. “We just calling it porking.”

Wade gave Peter a sly, sidelong look, and Peter clapped his hands together, pointedly avoiding his eye. “Great, thank you all so much! Now, about those particles…”

“Those are the changes we made to the collider!” Peni chirped, looking appropriately proud of herself, and as if all the other talk had gone way over her head. “All we had to do was make it so the particles that are extracted from us follow the rules of physics of this universe.”

“Oh, is that all?” Wade said in a tone of feigned nonchalance.

“Are you intimidated by intelligence?” Peter whispered.

Wade gave him a series of complex looks that Peter couldn’t begin to parse, and assumed meant the boxes were giving their input. “Only if in your universe, intimidated means ‘turned-on by.’”

“It’s worse than watching my parents kiss,” Miles muttered to Gwen, who nodded in sympathy.

Peni slammed her hand on the table. “Guys! This is important.”

Gwen crossed her arms and leaned into Peter to speak under her breath. “Is it possible the pig and the preteen are the ones taking this most seriously of us all?”

“I’ve got some ball-gags around here, if you’d like.” Peter-the-pig began rifling through his previously non-existent pockets and pulling out increasingly ridiculous items. Stark looked like he was having an existential crisis as a bazooka, tire, and an actual kitchen sink piled up on the floor, along with a collection of rubber duckies, and a live lobster. “Or are you gonna pay attention?” There was a faint menace in his tone, completely out of place with his cartoonish demeanor, and all the more terrifying for it.

“Don’t be such a boar,” Wade chastised.

Peter-the-Pig stared at him, blank-faced. “All these puns are starting to feel ham-fisted.”

Noir, who’d been mostly silent, drinking it in, in that sombre way he possessed, now spoke up. “I give time to ya, but do we need to tumble it in order for it to work?” he asked in genuine curiosity.

“Well.” Peni straightened up. “No. It’s just really neat.”

“It also means that there might be a point in the near future when you could travel between dimensions without long-term side-effects,” Stark said. “If that’s of any interest.”

Peter flicked a look in Wade’s direction, and quickly looked back again before he could notice. It was easy to forget, with how casually Wade spoke about his dimension-hopping, that it was still just temporary trips. But Wade _had_ said it didn’t affect him the same way...

“In the meantime, we reverse engineered Deadpool’s device, for short-term trips, and made one for each of you.”

“Jesus, you just reverse engineered it, in one night?” Wade slapped his hands at his sides.

“He did hack Time Travel in one night,” Peter said. “After that, the Multiverse is a relatively tiny leap.”

“I wouldn’t suggest more than 24-48 hours at a time,” Stark said. “And you need a couple weeks’ downtime for recovery between trips.”

“We’re working on a monitor to keep track of the cellular degeneration,” Peni said, gesturing to SP//dr. “Once it’s ready, you’ll be able to wear it on your trips to have a better idea of how long you can stay.”

“Convenient set up for sequels,” Wade muttered.

[[Are we all caught up now?]]

[Time for a perspective swap, maybe.]

*

“Sooner is better here, people,” Stark said, with an urgency he didn’t usually possess and it was enough to make Peter at least moderately concerned about the state of his own well-being.

“We could hang around a little longer, except Gwen maybe,” Peni said. “But with Peter’s cellular structure in the state it’s in…”

“If it weren’t for your healing factor, I’d expect to see a puddle of goo,” Stark said.

“I know we just did this,” Peter said, ignoring the prickling of his eyes. “Or at least, from my perspective we did. But I’m still gonna miss you guys.”

Behind him, Wade was muttering to his voices about Latin of all things. It was strange and probably should’ve been off-putting, but somehow, Peter found comfort in it.

Peter-the-Pig stepped forward and took Peter by both arms with a sort of fatherly air about him and said gravely, “That’s just sow it’s gotta be.”

Miles grabbed him in a hug. It was less startling every time it happened, a little more natural, letting his arms encircle Miles and pull him in close. Different from the maternal hugs from May, or the way MJ used to cling to him like he might disappear. Something in Peter ached at having to let him go.

“You better visit now that you can,” Miles whispered in his ear. “ _After_ you heal and Stark gives you the clear.”

Peter patted his back. “Who’s the father figure here?”

Miles pulled back to give him an incredulous look, and Peter could only laugh, because who was he trying to kid? No one would ever accuse Peter of being fatherly, even if he did somehow, someday, become a father.

They were the first two to go in the collider in quick succession. Peter hadn’t actually expected to feel any different, but as soon as Peter-the-Pig entered, it was immediate and dramatic, like a bucket of cold water waking him from a stupor, and when Miles entered, it only magnified.

Stark, who was monitoring his vitals, had a smile curling the corners of his lips. “We’re looking good. The particles are stabilising.”

Peni was next in line to enter. She gave Stark a stoic handshake before turning her attention to Peter. “When we first met, I didn’t understand how you ended up like you were, but after Gargan destroyed SP//dr, I got it. It took me a long time to feel like myself again.” She darted a shy glance at Wade, then back at Peter. “I’m glad you’re feeling more _yourself_.”

She gave Peter a squeeze around the middle, too fast for him to reciprocate before she’d pulled away. “Take better care of yourself!” she admonished with a wag of her finger, then flashed them a peace sign.

Peter almost collapsed in relief as Peni climbed up on SP//dr and they stepped through. Wade caught him, holding him with an arm braced around his waist. “Good?” Peter nodded, too overwhelmed by sensation to speak for a moment. He slung his arm over Wade’s shoulder and held on to keep upright. 

“Spent so much time on the job there’s not a lot of room for romance,” Noir said, looking between the two of them. “And I’ve never been light in my loafers, but seeing the two of ya chucking chin...well, makes me wonder what the Wilson back home is up to. Maybe I otta sleuth him out.”

“That’s...very progressive of you?” Peter said.

Noir gave them a tip of his hat and stepped into the collider. As he did, another wave rippled through Peter. Until just now, he hadn’t realised just how much he’d been impacted, outside of the glitches. They’d been so violently all-encompassing in their pain that he couldn’t have ignored them if he tried. But the rest of it--he was so used to feeling shitty, it hadn’t registered until it started to lift.

Gwen eyed the way Wade was holding him as she stepped up for her turn. “I know it’s sort of pointless to tell you not to be stupid--”

“Hey!” Peter cried in indignation and then fell silent because, well, fair enough.

“And I can’t even _believe_ I’m going to say this because it’s _Deadpool_...” Wade cocked a finger gun at her and gave a charming smile, and Gwen smirked back. “But you two are good together, which is definitely the weirdest thing I’ve encountered in my life. And given what you know about me, let that just sink in for a minute.”

“Oh gee,” Wade gasped. “Do we have Mommy’s approval?”

“My point is,” Gwen said, locking eyes with Peter, “it can be hard to hold on to people, in our lives. So just don’t actively try to push them away, okay?”

Peter reflexively squeezed Wade’s shoulder. Wade squeezed back, fingers digging into his waist in a way that was reassuring, but also, given their current situation, inappropriately arousing.

“Okay, pot,” he said.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “I’m working on it.” For a moment it seemed like she might hug him, too, but in the end she just settled for a nod. “Don’t be a stranger.”

After Gwen had gone through, the beams of the collider grew brighter still, until the whole room was filled with blinding light, and Peter had to close his eyes against it. When he opened them again, he blinked in disorientation. He was no longer in the basement, but in a sterile-smelling room with a view of the city from the bed Peter had been tucked into.

“Welcome back,” Banner said, from where he was standing at the bedside, scrolling on a tablet.

Peter pushed himself up, taking in the whole of the room. His stomach dropped when he realised it was just the two of them. “What happened? What am I doing here?”

“Honestly, when Tony told me what you’d been up to, I couldn’t believe you managed to stay conscious as long as you did,” Banner told him. “Must be that healing factor. Or stubbornness.”

Peter gave him a cheeky smile. “In Brooklyn we like to call it being headstrong.”

Banner cracked a smile in response. “If Tony had bothered to consult me at any stage of this process, I might have advised caution, but your tests have come back showing marked improvement. And hey, who am I to stand in the way of scientific progress? Even when it takes place over the course of a single evening, with a kid and a pig.”

“Hey!” Stark exclaimed, as he entered the room. “Is that anyway to talk about your benefactor?”

“Ha-freakin’ ha,” Banner said. “Looks like you were right about reducing the particles to ZPE and then having them go through the oscillator at the proper frequency, they’re behaving as though they’ve originated in this universe.”

“That was actually Peni’s idea.” Stark ran a hand over his face. “It physically pained me to send that girl home. Imagine what she could do with a lab here in Stark Tower?”

“So that means I’m all better now?” Peter said, and didn’t bother waiting for confirmation before getting to his feet.

Banner held out his hands like he wanted to push Peter back down, but stopped short of actually making contact. “You’re still teaming with foreign particles,” he protested. “We have no idea what this means! It’s never been done before!”

Peter waved him off. “I feel great!” he said. “Better than I have in ages. Point me at a bad guy; I’m sure SHIELD has a few lined up.”

Stark laid a hand on his chest. “How about you give it a few days there, champ.” Peter gave him a droll look.

“I’d like to keep running tests for the next few months,” Banner said. “Make sure they don’t revert to their original frequency. Or cause any other unintended side-effects. A strong enough healing factor should be able to correct any problems as they arise, but we don’t know if yours is that powerful. Honestly, we don’t have a lot of data on you…”

“And that’s the way I like it,” Peter told him, with a tone of finality that had Banner raising his hands in surrender. “But I’ll swing back by in a couple of days for your tests. For now, I’d like to head home. It’s been a long few weeks.” He searched around the room until he found his shoes lined up neatly by a chair, and sat to put them on. “Is, uh...did Wade go through the collider, too?”

“Said he had his own way home,” Stark said. “But honestly, with the way he was mother-henning you, he didn’t seem particularly inclined to leave.”

Peter hopped to his feet. “So he’s still here?”

“I had to kick him out to run my tests,” Banner explained. “He is...very distracting, and I’m not sure, honestly, how long I could keep the green guy away with him hanging around.”

“Fair enough,” Peter laughed.

“Friday,” Stark called out, sounding weary, “do I even want to know where Wade Wilson is in my building?”

“Mister Wilson is sparring with Clint in the main Avengers’ training room,” Friday responded.

“Weird,” Stark murmured, but clearly there could have been far worse responses.

“Thanks!” Peter clapped Stark on the shoulder and gave Banner a thumbs up, and then he was out the door.

*

Peter heard them before they came into sight. They were trading quips like old friends, which was both bewildering and entertaining. Clint was nowhere the physical match for Wade’s imposing build, and didn’t benefit from super strength like Peter, but he was well-trained, fast, and incredibly spry.

Still, it seemed like Wade had the upper hand and was going to finish things soon, until he caught sight of Peter, gasped and waved, and exclaimed, “Petey!” Clint took advantage of the distraction to leap on Wade’s back and get him in a chokehold.

Wade tapped out, and Clint clapped him on the back while he dropped on all fours, gasping. “We should do that again sometime!” Clint said cheerfully. “Nat and I can tag team you.”

Wade gave him a breathless thumbs up. “Please tell me that means what I think it does.”

Clint hopped down from the ring and headed out, presumably to shower, if the sweat dripping off him was anything to go by. “Pete,” he said, with a little nod.

With the two of them alone, Peter’s stomach twisted into a knot, just waiting for Wade to say it was time for him to go, too. “You are impossible to read with that mask on.”

“Only when my mouth is shut,” Wade said, even as he tugged off the mask. “But we know that’s as rare as a perfect double rainbow all the way. What does it meeeeeeaaaan?”

Peter went to the edge of the ring and ducked under the rope to slide in beside him. “You know I don’t get your memes.”

“But you do know they’re memes,” Wade pointed out. He scooted closer until he could lean in to rest his sweaty shoulder against Peter’s. “Give me time to learn all your memes, and then I’ll annoy you with those, instead!”

Peter wanted to smile, but the knot in his stomach had travelled up to lodge in his throat. “Wade, I can’t ask you to stay here.”

“Ah, so you _want_ to ask me to stay,” Wade said in a low, teasing whisper, with a smug smile on his face that highlighted the bone structure underneath. God, he was really, unfairly good-looking even marked in scars on every inch of exposed flesh. 

Peter ducked his head so he didn’t have to look Wade in the face. “Even if you don’t feel the side-effects, you’re still having them.”

“Healing factor of doom, baby!” Wade tucked a hand under Peter’s chin, lifting his face. He was close enough for Peter to see all the variant shades of blue and threads of bright white cutting through his pupils. “Maybe I haven’t been clear enough, so lemme spell it out for you: I’d do anything for you, Spidey.” 

Wade ducked down that last little space to catch Peter’s mouth in a kiss. It was far more tender than Wade Wilson had any right to be. Even with how close they’d grown over the past few days, Peter still knew only a very little of who he was. 

Peter opened to him slowly, letting Wade lead the kiss, and wrapped an arm around his neck to keep him close. He wanted to know _everything_ , which wasn’t all that unusual, but what was definitely out of character was finding that Peter wanted to share everything about himself, too. The idea of being vulnerable to anyone was still terrifying after how it’d turned out last time, but he didn’t care.

“Will you stay?” Peter asked.

“I mean, I was gonna anyway,” Wade said, grinning. “But it’s always nice to feel wanted.”

Peter pulled Wade back in for another kiss to show him just how wanted he was. “I feel like I should warn you about the dumpster fire that is my life,” he said, when they parted.

“Honey, you haven’t exactly been keeping that on the DL.”

“Oh fuck off,” Peter muttered. At least Wade had no room to judge him for it. But Peter was cautiously optimistic that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be better now. He had the strangest notion that Wade was actually _good_ for him.

But still...Peter bit his bottom lip. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, staying?”

“Banner wants to run some tests,” Wade said. “Made the mistake of letting slip that I react differently to dimension travel than most. He has this theory.”

“That it’s a demon?”

Wade gave him a sly look. “A dancing demon?”

“Nah,” Peter said. “Something isn’t right there.”

Wade made an alarming squeal of delight. “Plenty of shared culture references still in common, different universes be damned!”

Peter rolled his eyes skyward. “What’s Banner’s theory?”

“He thinks it’s the cancer cells that’re degenerating, since they’re the most aggressive, which means in time, some of the tumors might fade. Who knows, maybe someday I won’t be waking up screaming in agony, and I won’t have a face that wakes _you_ up screaming from the nightmares.”

“Hey,” Peter said, soft, touching a palm to Wade’s cheek. “I like your face.”

Wade shook his head. “I knew you were fucking crazy.”

Distantly, Peter heard an alarm going off, somewhere on one of the other Avenger floors, and then his Spidey Sense sent a sharp tingle up his spine. Peter lifted his head, tilted to the side to tune in his hearing that extra notch. Stark, Banner, and Clint were discussing something, mostly too faint for Peter to get the details, but definitely something requiring the attention of the Avengers.

Peter froze with indecision. So many times with MJ, he’d been in this exact same situation--in the middle of some important moment in their relationship, when he’d had to run off to save the city. And no matter how much MJ denied it, Peter knew it had been a huge factor in their divorce. The resentment on her part, that she wasn’t special enough, and the guilt on his part for those times when he’d ignored his senses, knowing how she’d react.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, Peter almost jumped when Wade laid a hand on his shoulder. Peter focused on his face, ready to make his excuses, when Wade beat him to it. He gestured with his chin towards the door. “Hey, are we gonna get that?”

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for your patience waiting on updates of my other WIP while I worked on this. I'll be posting a lot more now that I'm finished!
> 
> Your comments keep me going--thank you all for being so lovely!


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